Union
by PerseShow
Summary: Sequel to Figurehead (/s/12239676/1/Figurehead)
1. Chapter 1

Summary:

Odo has returned to the Alpha Quadrant for reasons even he himself doesn't understand—or, at least, doesn't want to admit. Kira Eeris has escaped Bajor and left the only life she's ever known, determined to carve out a new life for herself among the stars. And Miro Dax, self-proclaimed explorer and surfer of all fate's waves, may not be able to maintain his isolation for long.

But Odo is haunted by Nerys's ghost and his own guilt, Eeris can't see beyond the smooth planes of Odo's alien face, and Miro's convinced they're all better off separate and doing their own thing. Can these three manage even a shaky truce—before the Romulan Empress Viresa shakes the galaxy to its knees, along with all they've ever known?

Sequel to Figurehead—in which Kira Eeris risks everything to escape her destiny, and Odo sacrifices nine hundred years of peace in the Great Link to answer a call for help.

A/N: Welcome to the next installment of _Trials of Peace_! Sorry it took me so long to update. I had to splice and paste scenes from seven different versions of the story. (And I imagine that explains why it took so damn long to write it. Seven different versions!) Felt a little bit like I was bringing my own special Frankenstein back to life. But I loved writing it in the end, and I think what we've got here is pretty good, so enjoy :)

Just a heads up, I strongly recommend reading _Figurehead_ first. Everything will make a lot more sense that way. (You can find it here on FanFiction at: s/12239676/1/Figurehead)

Thanks to Queenix for the awesome beta. Thanks also to my dad for being supportive as always.

* * *

3275

900 years following the Dominion War

* * *

When Odo stepped off the Rintoqua and into Deep Space Nine's airlock, he might as well have stepped onto another planet. There was nothing familiar about the exposed and sparking circuitry that lined the worn and broken metal walls. It looked like a kitchen cupboard might after being ransacked for everything that could be eaten. Odo waited for the chief's familiar grunting and cursing as he beat the station's innards into shape. When no sound came but the soft and foreign echo of Odo's boots against the floor, he felt a strange twinge of loss. Odd, that something as simple as the absence of a friendly face could upset him, when he'd come here knowing that everyone he'd ever known was gone.

The only familiar sight was the red, gear-shaped door at the end of the corridor. Apparently some things never changed. But it had faded from bright red to a sickly pink over the past nine hundred years. When it rolled aside to let Odo pass, it creaked and sputtered on its worn machinery. It had faded into disrepair, just as had everything else about Odo's life.

Odo's life, one might say, had been the Great Link. Until seventy years ago, if anyone had asked him where he belonged, that's what he would have said. He had, after all, spent nearly nine hundred years there, alternating between an existence as part of the collective and one as the humanoid individual he had come to see himself as. His people had never understood. He was, however, one of them, and since his loyalties were no longer in question—the assumption at the time had been that he would stay with them for the rest of his days—they let him be. They didn't complain when he would launch himself out of the living ocean he called home and take on the various shapes that surrounded him, except perhaps to offer a disgruntled murmur when he joined them again. It wasn't until Benjamin Sisko, a wormhole alien now, had sent a message straight to his subconscious and piqued his curiosity that Odo had begun to reconsider where he belonged.

Sisko had first tried to contact him soon after he joined his people, but at the time, his message had been unclear. He had shown Odo a one-armed, four-fingered Bajoran girl who was, as far as Odo could gather, back on Bajor and in some kind of trouble. Odo had seen no reason to give Sisko's message more than passing consideration. He had never put stock in the word of the beings that called themselves Prophets, and he hadn't intended to start then. Even when it was his own former commanding officer talking. But then, almost eight hundred years later, Sisko had sent him another of the messages he called "visions''—and this time, there was an urgency attached. Sisko had informed him that this mysterious Bajoran girl was actually Nerys's descendant, and that something had happened to Nerys—something that had altered the fate of Bajor for the worse.

Odo still hadn't seen a reason to interfere. Nerys was gone and Bajor was no longer his home. But he hadn't been able to shake that niggling sense of worry…as if somehow, just through a strange imagining during an encounter with the captain-turned-Prophet, he had begun to care for this nameless girl. And so, only a century later—time that flew by in the depths of the Great Link—Odo had given into instinct and heeded Sisko's request that he return to Bajor.

To his surprise, when he met her—Kira Eeris—over the comm just before arriving at the station, his care for her had been cemented. He had known, the instant he saw her in the flesh, that he would protect her with his life. Not just out of debt to Nerys, but out of some senseless attachment to this particular Bajoran girl that he couldn't even begin to fathom.

And so here he was. Eight-hundred-thirty years in the Great Link and seventy traveling on the Rintoqua later, Odo was standing inside the airlock of Deep Space Nine, the home he'd almost forgotten.

He stepped through the airlock and onto the promenade. It wasn't the promenade as he'd known it. It was dismal and dark. He blinked, peering as far as he could in the gloom, and found that he could only see about thirty feet in all directions. And what he could see, he didn't recognize in the slightest.. Where well-lit shops with flashing signs had once been, he saw only small, gray concession stands with cardboard signs that teetered on their hooks. Odo craned his neck to get a view of the second level, but he couldn't even make out the upper railing, let alone the activity above. He could barely see the atrium around him. He could have been in a cave, for all he knew—not the once-bustling promenade of Deep Space Nine.

Something deep in his liquid self churned uncomfortably. He closed his eyes and willed a deep breath through his facsimile lungs. It was…all right. He'd expected something like this, hadn't he? In fact, hadn't he pictured more violence than gloom, more terrors than shadows? So why did his morphogenic matrix seem to want to betray him and release the shape that confined him to the humanoid world?

Odo scowled at himself and took a determined step forward. His boot scuffed against the metal floor and stirred up a cloud of dust that took a moment to dissipate. He felt grime coating his toe and shed it quickly, restoring some measure of order to his form. It made him feel a little better. It wasn't much, but it was one demon exorcised.

He'd been trekking through the gloom and muck for a minute or two when he noticed that there were people passing around him. Not just people—crowds, throngs, dressed in dark colors that blended in with the surrounding twilight. It was no wonder he hadn't seen them until now. And then he realized the other reason he hadn't noticed them right away. They were quiet. No one was talking or chatting or even whispering to one another. There was not a single voice in the darkness. It was as if these people had unanimously decided to cut their tongues and utter not a grunt. There was no clearing of throats in the silence, or even a gruffly mumbled, "Excuse me." Nothing. They all filed in one direction or another, some heading toward the stands farther down the thoroughfare, others filtering up the spiral staircases whose steps creaked underfoot. The occasional squeak of the stair railings was the only sound to be heard. It sent a shiver down Odo's nonexistent spine. He'd been right before—something had gone drastically wrong with Bajoran society. Something had broken these people.

Was that what Sisko intended for him to fix, perhaps?

Odo needed to find Eeris and Dax. They'd agreed to meet him, and it was the only way he was going to learn anything about what had happened to Bajor. He couldn't help but wonder at the convenience of it all. Could it be coincidence that, so soon after returning home on Sisko's orders, he met up with the very two people who would know the most about what he wanted to learn? Dax, who had lived long enough to understand the context behind it all, and Eeris, who was—as far as Odo could gather—some sort of important figure on her homeworld. As a law enforcement officer and a lover of mysteries, Odo had never believed in coincidences.

Coincidences or no, he doubted the wisdom of the captain's plan. Maybe if Jadzia had still been around, it would have been possible to recruit her help. Or even Ezri, though she was more of a counselor than a hero. But Miro? This Dax might agree to fill Odo in on history, but they wouldn't be working together. There was nothing keeping them in the same room together.

Before Odo knew it, he was passing a familiar set of doors. He caught them out of the corner of his eye and whirled, expecting to see the shiny metallic surface of his old desk. He was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him: office doors that gaped open like yawning jaws, desk cracked and thrown on its side, a single bad sitting abandoned on the floor, chair upturned and tossed aside. The other chair—the one Odo had come to think of as almost exclusively belonging to Nerys—was nowhere to be seen.

Well, he'd been a fool to think nothing would change in his absence. It had, after all, been nine hundred years. He'd made a choice, and he'd suffer the consequences.

Even that rationalization couldn't stop him from sucking in a gasp, his breath hitching. His office, to him, had never been just an office. It was a safe haven, a place that had distracted him from any temptation to engage in a personal life just as much as it had sheltered him from the chaos of the promenade. Before he'd found his people, it had even been the closest thing he had to a home—he'd literally slept in a bucket in his closet. Even after that, it had been the perfect place to hide when the pressures of leading his newfound social life became too much. He hadn't truly graduated beyond his office and into a fully functional, interactive member of society until his relationship with Nerys. After that point, he had spent a good deal of time formerly spent in his office in her quarters, instead, though sometimes in his own.

Even then, even once he had fully befriended Deep Space Nine's crew and had even begun to interact with them in more social settings, Odo had never been an outgoing man. It simply wasn't in his nature. And so his office remained his hiding place when he didn't think he could take another friendly wave from Dax or O'Brien, when he knew that just nodding in passing would be far too formal for the situation.

Odo shook himself out of his thoughts. He slowly, deliberately, brought his hands together behind his back, as if to try out the stance for size. Almost immediately, the remembered posture shored up his strength and he felt his expression stiffen into that of the impassive constable. Reassured, he moved on.

To his left, the thoroughfare seemed to disappear into such complete darkness that it couldn't possibly be a main route of travel. Odo stepped closer, squinting, and could barely make out a spiral staircase toward the back and a bar space cluttered with miscellaneous equipment and scrap metal. He stepped back, stunned. He'd know that architecture anywhere. He was looking into the entrance of Quark's bar.

Had he really been gone for that long?

The former bar was nothing but a dark cave, strewn with dark lumps of metal that jutted from the floor and walls at odd angles. Toward the back, it was piled high. Odo checked behind the bar counter, but of course its proprietor was long gone. He tightened his hands behind his back and turned swiftly away with a slight harrumph before he could feel the emotion that reached up to grip him with icy fingers. The Ferengi bartender didn't warrant it, even in death.

The thoroughfare—what little he could see of it—took him past what he remembered as the infirmary next. He walked straight past it, not even bothering to turn his head. He didn't want to risk being caught unaware by another ghost of the past.

"Odo!"

Odo looked up. Miro Dax's vibrant red hair had materialized not thirty feet in front of him.

"Long time, no see," Dax said. He walked closer.

"Dax," Odo greeted him with a slight incline of his head.

"It's Miro," the Trill snapped. "After nineteen hosts, 'Dax' doesn't differentiate me anymore. But as long as you don't slip and call me Commander or something, I'm good. And do me a favor, Odo—I know you're curious about, well, everyone else, but don't ask me, okay? I don't wanna talk about it."

"About Nerys, you mean?" Odo asked.

"Yeah, or Jadzia or Ezri, or really anyone," Miro said. "I've left that life behind me. I had just about forgotten all about it when you showed up. So I wouldn't dredge up the past, if I were you. My patience is running thin as it is."

"If you're so reluctant to see me," Odo said as he fell into step next to Miro, "then why did you suggest meeting me here?"

Miro shrugged. "No harm in getting this over with. If I just flat-out refused to talk to you, you'd be showing up at my doorstep every few days hounding me for information."

"I wouldn't be that persistent," Odo said.

Miro raised a brow.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't literally chase you down across the quadrant if I had questions," Odo said. "But I might try to contact you over subspace. You know you're the only source of answers I have."

"Well, that's a shame," Miro said. "Because you're not gonna get the ones you want."

"You mean the ones about Nerys and the others."

"Naturally." Miro glanced over his shoulder at Odo. "I'll fill you in on how the galaxy fell apart, but that's about it."

Odo nodded. "If you don't mind my asking, where are we headed?"

"Replimat," Miro snapped. "Eeris saved us a spot. I thought I'd come out here and get you myself. Don't know how good you are at seeing in the dark."

"And other people are?" Odo asked as he followed Miro toward the replimat.

"Bajor's been plunging into darkness for years," Miro said. "Literally. I don't even know how they breathe under that haze. They're practically a dead society, thanks to you. This is the kind of darkness they're used to. Honestly, I prefer to stay off the station. They don't see me around here much. But one of the best pawning shops I know is here, so it's one of my stops. Eeris and I were just about to take off for the Cardassian border when you came along." He scowled. "Founders always were a disruption to everyone's day, you know."

"I told you, I'm not here as a Founder," Odo said.

"And you expect me to believe that."

"I—"

"Oh, don't start. I don't wanna hear it," Miro said. "You've betrayed us all. It's your fault I'm even still on the station, I would have left by now. You're lucky I'm even willing to talk to you at all."

Odo sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. He evidently wasn't going to get a defense right then. Might as well let Miro's anger run its course—for all he knew, that was all his old friend needed. He tried to think of something else to say, something neutral, but his mind kept coming up with one thing: Kira. But he knew Miro wouldn't want to say a word about her. Instead, he opted for a more roundabout approach, his investigative instincts slowly trickling back to him.

"Tell me more about the Bajorans," he said. "How has Bajor fared since I left?"

"Badly," Miro said. "And you can pat yourself on the back for that. But that's all I know. Like I said, I don't hang around Bajor. Eeris probably knows more than I do. She was in line to be Figurehead, you know."

"Figurehead?" Odo repeated.

Miro grimaced and shook his head. "Be glad you chose the Gamma Quadrant."

"It's not just Bajor, is it?" Odo asked. "Something's gone wrong with the rest of the quadrant, too." _Just like Sisko said,_ his mind whispered.

"No kidding. The entire quadrant's a quagmire of border disputes and meaningless grievances," Miro said. "I sometimes wish everyone could just get along, you know? Seems like I can't see one dispute through to its resolution before someone else halfway across the quadrant is complaining about the violation of some treaty! I hightail it over at maximum warp, only to find someone set up a colony on a planet they weren't supposed to, and someone else complained about it, and the settlers refused to back down, and it spiraled into an argument that never needed to happen. And that's not even the worst of it. Imagine if that happened, but at the same time, the _Klingons_ attacked somewhere, and now, _that_ matters in the grand scheme of things, but I would have been distracted elsewhere…"

"Sounds like a lot of work," Odo said. "And you take that all upon yourself? You don't call in any help?"

"Ha! What help is there to call in when _everyone's_ at each other's throats but me?" Miro shook his head. "I swear, one of these days a good wave will come my way and I'll be somewhere else, resolving some minor dispute, and not even see it. That's what the galaxy'll do to me, Odo. Make me be everywhere at once and then I'll miss the opportune challenge of a lifetime."

"I take it you get some enjoyment out of all this," Odo said.

"Enjoyment? That's an understatement," Miro said, grinning. "And as soon as I get this business here taken care of and send you on your way, I'm warping _far_ away from Bajor and sniffing out the next big wave, because I tell you, I'm gonna need it, if this goes how I think it will."

"You think I'll ruin your day," Odo groused.

"You're a Founder, Odo, and you're the one Founder I hoped I'd never see again. You've _already_ ruined my day."

Odo sighed. "Sorry I'm such an imposition."

"And here we are," Miro said, stopping just a few paces before the replimat. "Look, Odo. I could be a pretty inconvenient enemy to make. I know you can't imagine us as being on opposite sides, and I don't really blame you—after all, you've only known me in two different lives, three if you count Jadzia's zhiantara, and I was a pretty nice guy then. But it's been nine hundred years, I've got the memories of eleven more hosts you never met, and I'm not the same Dax you once knew. So stay off my lawn, don't bug me, and we can both function on our own in this wide open quadrant and never have anything to do with each other, okay?"

"Fair enough," Odo said. "Can we join Eeris now?"

Miro gestured for Odo to lead the way. "Go on ahead. Enjoy my civility while you've got it."

* * *

In case anyone's curious, here's some ToP universe lore:

2375—Dominion War ends, Odo returns to Great Link  
2378—Odo receives his first vision from Sisko  
3165-3205—sometime in the early years of this time period, Odo receives his second vision from Sisko  
3205—Odo embarks on the seventy-year journey to the Alpha Quadrant  
3275—Odo, Eeris, and Miro meet


	2. Chapter 2

The tables and chairs of the replimat, now sitting crookedly like tombstones in a graveyard, had materialized out of the gloom of the promenade as if from thin air. Odo scanned the area for a Bajoran girl with Eeris's telltale missing arm. He spotted her a few tables in, barely a millisecond before Miro stretched out an arm to point to her.

"I see her," Odo said. He walked toward the table.

Eeris saw him right away, far sooner than he would have expected in the perpetual darkness. His attire was even less noticeable than usual, since he'd thought it wise to come in plain black civilians' garments rather than in anything resembling his old uniform. That uniform was probably obsolete now. He wouldn't have stood out by "wearing" it, but he wouldn't have blended in, either. He had, however, stuck with the same face. He could have formed himself more detailed Bajoran features, but he hadn't bothered. He wasn't of Bajor anymore. He wasn't of any Alpha Quadrant species. Best to stick with the impassive mask, the one that labeled him as a Founder. The one that, ridiculous as it looked, was his.

Eeris waved to him with her only hand, her face lighting up the gloom as only a child's could. Odo's eyes traveled up her arm to her hand, and sure enough, her right ring finger was missing. Just as it had been in his vision. Vision? Odo shook his head. This was just too absurd. If Sisko expected his legendary patience to extend to matters of the murdered Prophets, then he was sadly mistaken. The sooner Odo learned what the captain seemed to want him to know and gained some power over his situation, the better. He could decide what to do next from there.

"Odo!" Eeris called. "I thought you two had gotten lost!"

"Easy enough to do around here," Miro grumbled as he slid into a seat kitty-corner to Eeris.

Odo followed suit, sitting across from Miro and leaning over the table, his elbows resting on the surface and his hands folded. "Did _you_ find your way well enough, Eeris?"

Eeris shrugged. "I'm Bajoran. I'm used to the darkness."

"Told ya," Miro said.

Her pupils _were_ dilated unnaturally, Odo noticed. He turned to Miro. "I take it Trills aren't used to it?"

Miro looked appalled. "Absolutely not! I've never even set foot on Bajor, Founder. Far too dark even for me, and the weather is awful. I never even stay long on the station. Just drop off my stuff, and I'm outta here. Don't know why I picked up Eeris and got myself involved in this nonsense." He sighed. "Guess I just got lonely."

"He's a bit of a wanderer," Eeris explained. "I went with him to drop off his stuff. It's a rubble pile of worthless items—"

"Excuse me, not worthless!" Miro protested. "They sold for three hundred bars of latinum and you know it! You watched them pay me!"

Eeris nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, he's right. I just can't see how anyone could want the stuff."

Odo tilted his head at Miro. "You sell…rubble piles?"

Miro waved his hand dismissively. "Odd ends, doodads. Engine parts, exotic plants, alien foodstuffs…you name it, someone out there wants it. But we're not here to talk about me, remember? I was going to tell you how things got so dismal this side of the galaxy."

Odo nodded. "That's right. I hear something happened to the Federation?"

"Where'd you hear that?" Miro asked.

Odo decided not to mention his experience with Sisko. "I did some research on the way here," he said. "But it wasn't very conclusive."

"Yeah, something happened to the Federation," Miro said. "Right after you left, our very own Kira Nerys tossed them off Bajor and they went off to find some new friends. It was a useless endeavor, if you ask me. The Federation couldn't tell a friend from an enemy if it wore a sign across its chest. Anyway, they sent one of their starships out and there was some sort of border dispute. Klingons got mad and renewed hostilities against the Federation. Without Benjamin around, the Federation couldn't decide between war and diplomacy, and it was driven back. And if it had ended there, it might have been alright. I can see the galaxy standing on its feet with no Federation around and no Section 31. But the thing is, there was the Bajor-Ferenginar Alliance to worry about—"

"Bajor and _Ferenginar_?" Odo repeated. "Why would they form an alliance?"

"Cardassians attacked and Bajor wanted weapons," Miro explained. "Ferengis sold them a bunch, Bajor won, Cardassia fell, Ferengis ran away screaming. Typical, if you ask me. So the Cardassians—"

"Wait," Eeris said. "I've heard about the Ferengis, but what about the Cardassians? Who are they?"

Miro gave her a wide-eyed glance, as if he couldn't believe a Bajoran knew about Ferengis but not Cardassians. Odo was a bit shocked himself.

"Long time enemy of your people," Miro said. "It's a long story, Eeris, but the Cardies tried to conquer Bajor twice—once on their own, when their union was young and strong, and the second time under the Dominion, after their government was fractured—"

"The Dominion?" Eeris asked.

"Oh, fate," Miro groaned, "we'll be here all day if we go through Dominion lore. I'll explain it to you later, okay, kid? For now, let's get Odo caught up. Anyway, Odo, the Cardassians reached out to the Romulans. Worst mistake they ever made, if you ask me."

"I should think allying themselves with the Dominion was their worst mistake," Odo said, trying not to notice the way Eeris's blank stare bounced between him and Miro.

"Yeah, that one was pretty messy," Miro said. "And they didn't just ally themselves to the Dominion, they sold themselves. But what can you expect from Gul Dukat? Anyway, they've got better leadership now. I'm not sure there was a single Cardassian who didn't rejoice when Dukat fell into the Bajoran fire caves—"

"Sorry to interrupt," Eeris said, "but that's the first I've heard about my own planet in this conversation, and I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Not surprising, what with the way Kira Nerys did away with scripture," Miro said. "Anyway, the Cardassians. They're allied with the Romulans. And that, I tell you, the whole galaxy will learn to regret. The Romulans are a powerful force under Empress Viresa, and they'll stop at nothing to take control of both the Alpha and Beta quadrants. I'll bet Viresa would try and conquer the Dominion if she still had a wormhole. She's bad news. The only adversary whose side I'll never take in battle. I switch around, manipulate the odds a bit. I don't have a side, I'm the outsider, the neutral one. But Viresa—well, she'll never gain my favor."

"So the Cardassians are allied with the Romulans," Odo said. "What does that mean for us?"

"More bad news," Miro said. "The Romulans are galactic conquerers with no sense of other people's ownership. They think of everything as theirs for the taking. The Cardassians are wandering pirates and terrorists. Put them together and you have a force to be reckoned with. I wouldn't be surprised if Cardassia tried aiming for Bajor again—the Romulans aren't exactly honorable, and they won't honor the treaty for long. Cardassia needs firm ground to stand on, and the alliance with the Romulans is a sinkhole."

"What of Bajor, then?" Odo asked. "You said it fell off the political map—would you still defend it?"

" _Hell_ no," Miro said. "Not worth my time. It's the most backwards society I've ever heard of."

"Backwards…in what way?"

"Just take my word for it," Miro grumbled.

"He means the Figurehead," Eeris said. "And I can't help but agree."

"The Figurehead?" Odo repeated. It was the second time he'd heard the unfamiliar word.

"The Figurehead…" Eeris began, shook her head, and shrugged. "I guess she's like a spiritual leader of Bajor, if that makes any sense. According to legend, Kira Nerys herself flushed the old religious order out of society—"

"What?" Odo gasped.

"—and the Figurehead took its place," Eeris said. "Kira Nerys was the first Figurehead. Her intention, according to the texts, was to lead her people toward something greater. I don't know what that was, but believe me, it's all I ever heard in school for years." She rolled her eyes. "If I have to hear one more time how the first Figurehead took absolute power and evaded chaos, I swear my ears are going to explode." She paused. "And I'm not even kidding."

"She 'took the bull by the horns,' so to speak," Miro grumbled.

"Then this Figurehead is a monarch?" Odo asked.

Eeris laughed and shook her head. "Well, supposedly, that's how it started out, but that's not how things are now. She's literally what her title suggests. She's a figurehead. She's a showpiece. She just sits there on her throne and does nothing worthwhile, all the while the High Council makes all the decisions."

"And that's all she does?" Odo asked, appalled.

"Just about." Eeris snorted derisively. "And the people do look to her for support. They follow her example. She's like a giant big sister to the Bajoran race. But honestly, I don't see the point. It's not just because of the Figurehead that Bajor's as backwards as Miro says—the whole planet's inflicted, everyone's got the wrong priorities. Would you believe I was in line for the throne just because of who my mother was? Never mind that the people were _repulsed_ by me! Now how the hell do you lead people who won't follow you? It's a useless position, I can tell you that much. You can advise someone all you want, but that doesn't mean they'll listen to you. And my people don't listen to me. They never will. I'm too different to ever be one of them."

The words might as well have come from Odo's mouth. He gazed in amazement at this girl who shared something so fundamental in common with him. It only seemed to strengthen his senseless attachment to her. But Odo didn't say any of that.

"This position must be quite an honor," he mused, "if she serves as such an example to her people."

"Not for me," Eeris said. "For my mother, maybe, and for every Figurehead before her, but not for _me_."

"That's why she decided to come along with me," Miro added. "And I can't blame her. Bajor's a hell of a place these days."

"Your mother was the Figurehead?" Odo asked Eeris.

"And still is, for all I know," Eeris said. "She disgusts me. She thinks she's royalty, but she's not. All she's doing is standing watch over a backwards people with no respect for the past." She stared down at the table. "Kira Nerys was no one to be respected. I _know_ that. It shows in everything my society has become."

Odo gripped the edge of the tabletop and fought back the anxiety and cold dread that rose within him like the unrelenting tide. Kira Nerys. No one to be respected. Those words didn't belong in the same sentence. More than ever, Odo wished Miro would tell him what had gone wrong.

"I couldn't stick around," Eeris continued. "There was no way I could stand one more day on that Prophet-forsaken planet! You know, there's a wall around the Societal Order, and no one gets in and no one gets out. There's a ring of poor sectors all around the society where the outcasts live. I don't know what's gone wrong with my people, but their priorities have changed. The leadership isn't what it once was. They're superstitious, they're afraid…they used to be hardworking, I've seen it, I've seen the crops come in—but they're not anymore! And you wouldn't believe the hassle of getting _off_ Bajor entirely—they've isolated themselves, cut themselves off, turned the planet into a monotone world where nothing happens. They're becoming something I can't be! I'm not one of them!"

"Is that why you left?" Odo asked quietly.

"Partly." Eeris sighed and looked down at the tabletop, no longer meeting his eyes. "Partly because they didn't want me. I repulsed them."

Odo tilted his head. "Why is that?"

She hesitated before answering. Odo watched, forcing himself to be patient, as she bit her lip. Getting information out of children and teenagers had never been his strong suit. One had to probe a little, then retreat, then probe a little more and retreat again…and the most important thing was to strike a balance between authority and trust. Odo didn't think he'd yet achieved that with Eeris.

"You're not going to believe me," she finally said.

"Won't I?" he asked.

"Well, I guess you might, if you really are a metamorph." She forced a laugh. "But still…"

"Trust me, Eeris, I'll believe whatever you have to say," Odo said. "I doubt you have reason to lie."

Eeris sighed. Her eyes remained locked on the table. "I wasn't born without an arm."

That was her secret? "I assumed as much," he said. "Did you lose it in an accident?"

"An accident, indeed!" She coughed out a laugh, startling him. "I morphed it away, Odo!"

Odo was completely flummoxed. That wasn't something he'd expected her to say, even after meeting her likeness in Sisko's "vision." That manifestation of her had indeed mentioned being a metamorph, but Odo hadn't put any stock in it. The only thing that had convinced him to come to the Alpha Quadrant was that niggling sense of dread that something wasn't right, that this girl was somehow his responsibility. Maybe the lightning storm in his…experience, whatever it was, had shaken him more than he'd been prepared to admit.

"You…you what?" he managed.

"You heard me," she said. "I morphed it away. Had to escape a guard, and I morphed it away."

"You said…morph," Odo said. "As in…like a Changeling?"

"I don't know how a Changeling morphs," Eeris said. "All I know is I can't control it. I lost my finger the same way, and my senses of smell and taste." She waved her right hadn't at Odo, showing him her missing ring finger. "And that's why I need your help. You're a metamorph like me. I thought…I hoped…you could help me."

Was this what the captain had planned for him? Was he supposed to reverse Bajor's darkness, or was his role something smaller, something as small as helping out a frightened Bajoran girl? Odo didn't exactly appreciate this attempt to dictate his life, but he was already stuck here in the Alpha Quadrant. What harm could come from helping a young girl—a descendant of Kira, no less—figure out how to shapeshift? Besides, he owed this to Nerys. It would never even begin to pay for what he'd done, for how he'd hurt her, but at least it would help ease his conscience. He knew that no matter what, he couldn't let Eeris down.

"Alright," Odo agreed. "I'll do whatever I can. But I have one question."

"What's that?" Eeris asked.

"How did you find me?" Odo asked. "You definitely managed to find the right person. I can't think of anyone better qualified to teach you how to shape shift. But I wasn't anywhere nearby until recently. And yet, we somehow managed to meet up at the same time and in the same place."

"I guess the Emissary timed it well," Eeris said. She smiled and it spread to her eyes. "He sent me an orb experience. It led me to you."

"An orb?" Odo repeated. "But you said the Bajorans don't practice their old religion anymore."

"No, not exactly, but there's still a religious stronghold outside the wall. They have an orb."

"I see," Odo nodded. "So the Emissary didn't speak to you at all?"

"Well, not really," Eeris said. "I spoke to you and Miro, though. Through the orb. You were there, sort of, and we talked some. But I'd like to think that it was really the Emissary talking to me the whole time."

"Hmph!" Odo said. "The Emissary is nothing but a retired Starfleet officer who still thinks he can run the show now that the Prophets are gone. I wouldn't put any stock in it, Eeris."

"I'm glad _someone_ agrees with me," Miro said. "Anything that leads her to you is probably a bad idea."

Eeris eyed Miro beseechingly.

Miro shook his head. "All the puppy-dog eyes in the galaxy won't change my mind, kid."

"But don't you want me to get my limbs back?"

"Sure, I'd love you to," Miro said. "But if it means he's on board? Not on my ship."

"Miro…"

"Actually, Miro's right," Odo said. "I hate to refuse you the help you need, I really do, but the fact remains that the _Challenger_ is Miro's ship. If he doesn't want me on board, I have no right to be."

"But it's not fair," Eeris said.

Miro laughed. "Welcome to the galaxy."

Eeris slumped. She looked like she wanted to protest, but Odo got the feeling she'd run out of arguments. She knew when her words weren't getting anywhere.

"Look, kid," Miro said, "I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime. Especially for where you come from. You'll get to explore wherever you want, see things you'd never get to see. And you'll never have to set foot on Bajor again, 'cause fate knows _I'm_ never going back there. And if I can find a solution for you for your arms," he gestured vaguely at Eeris's shoulder stump, "I will. I've got nineteen lives under my belt and a couple of them were scientists."

Eeris perked up. "You mean you could help me…without Odo?"

Miro shrugged. "I'd give it a try."

"That's…that's great," Eeris said, flustered. "I had hoped I wouldn't have to…but now…"

"Wouldn't 'have to' what?" Odo asked.

Eeris froze like a deer caught in headlights.

Odo frowned, suspicion growing. "Wouldn't have to _what_?"

"Be around you," Eeris said to the table.

For a moment, Odo was paralyzed. None of his predictions for how this conversation would go involved getting evicted from Eeris and Miro's little group entirely. Sisko had given him one reason to come here—Eeris—and he had traveled _seventy years_ , just to help her in any way he could. If he was told he couldn't come on board, couldn't help Eeris at all, it invalidated those seventy years—and even gave him no reason whatsoever to be in the Alpha Quadrant. He had no contingency plans for what he would do here if he wasn't allowed to help her. Not that he'd had any plans in the first place—Sisko had been in charge up until now—but he certainly hadn't been prepared for dismissal. Eeris's discomfort cut through him like a knife.

Miro laughed, twisting the blade. "I don't blame you, kid. So, Odo, I suppose that means we're done here?"

"Wait!" Odo said. "At least let me talk to Eeris before you go."

"Kid?" Miro asked.

"If you stay," Eeris said to Miro.

Miro glanced at Odo.

Odo hesitated. This was nothing he wanted to discuss in front of Dax. "I'd really rather…"

"It's up to Eeris," Miro pointed out.

Eeris sighed. "Oh, fine. If it's only a few minutes."

"Alright then," Miro said. "I'll just be…over there."

In lieu of an explanation, he walked off down the promenade and stopped some distance away. Odo faced Eeris, ready for the last conversation he would ever have with her—and inexplicably, his words flew from his mind.

"Well?" Eeris asked, shoulders slumped, back hunched a little, as if she was trying to curl in on herself. "What is it?"

Odo sighed. He recognized that posture. He'd never gotten it from Nerys, thankfully, but Eeris's fearful hunch gave him a good idea of what it might have looked like on the woman he'd loved. The likeness was strong. It only managed to twist that blade of revulsion even deeper into his substance.

He leaned forward over the table. Here went nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

As Odo leaned forward, Eeris braced herself. She wasn't entirely sure what she found so off-putting about him. Maybe it was just the smooth, alien-looking planes of his face, or maybe it was something more than that—the way emotion hardly registered in his expression, the way she couldn't read him at all, the way Miro almost seemed to confirm her silent fears just by the way he distrusted Odo. No matter what it was, Eeris found she didn't want to spend more than a few minutes here alone with him. She was grateful Miro seemed to think they would find a way to get her arm back, even without Odo on board. But still, guilt clawed at her. This wasn't what the Emissary had wanted.

"This may sound ridiculous," Odo said, "but I don't suppose I need to worry about your judgement, since we'll be parting ways shortly."

Eeris nodded. "Go on."

"I…do care…for you," he said, voice stilted. "I came here just for you. I…"

"That doesn't make any sense," Eeris said.

"I agree," Odo said. "It doesn't. But…it doesn't change anything. I had hoped you would keep up your argument with Miro about whether I should come with you—I don't know what I expected it to accomplish, it's clear Miro doesn't want me on board and won't change his mind anytime soon, but still…I wanted…"

Eeris sighed and looked away. She didn't know what to tell him.

"You say this Emissary of yours brought us together," Odo said. "I don't know if I believe that…believe that he's the Emissary, that is. You seem to think he's trying to accomplish some greater purpose…whatever it is, I couldn't care less. But…Captain Sisko…he sent me a…he called it a vision, though I'm not sure I believe that either…I saw you, Eeris. I don't know what came over me. You were in a thunderstorm, and lightning was striking you, and it was following you in the strangest way…as if you just couldn't escape trouble. Sisko gave me the sense that I needed to be _here_ , to care for you. That there would be repercussions if I stayed in the Great Link. He didn't say that in words, as such…but the _feeling_ was there…" Odo scoffed and shook his head. "I can't explain it. But…I need you to know…"

Eeris looked up at him. "So you're here just because of me, and now I don't want you here, so you're purposeless now. Is that what you're trying to say?"

Odo sighed. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"You _are_ purposeless," Eeris said, one fist pounding the table. "Then why'd you bother coming? You couldn't have expected to be greeted with open arms. I mean, just look at what Miro thinks of you! And he's the only one around who actually _knew_ you before, right? What did you honestly expect? And you just came over, spent seventy years in space doing nothing, only for…what? To be dismissed? What were you thinking?"

"I'd like to ask this Emissary of yours what _he_ was thinking," Odo said, "putting us together."

Eeris rolled her eyes. "Do that for me, will you? I don't get it. If Miro and I can find a scientific solution, then why…?"

Odo shook his head. "I don't know."

"So why'd you do it?" Eeris asked. "You don't even seem to _believe_ in the Emissary. So what made you travel seventy years for me?"

"Nerys," Odo said.

"Who? _Kira_ Nerys, you mean?"

"What other?" Odo chuckled. "Do you have any idea how much you look like her?"

Eeris glowered at the table. "That's not a compliment."

"It is, coming from me."

"Oh, please. You hardly knew her."

Odo gave her a startled stare before leaning back in his chair, falling into chuckles.

"What?" Eeris demanded. "What's so funny?"

Odo controlled himself and shook his head. "Nothing."

" _Did_ you know her?"

"You could say that."

Eeris pounced on it. Maybe this was her opportunity for answers. "Well? Who was she?"

"Who was she…? Eeris…" Odo sighed. "That question could take days to answer."

"Give me the short version."

"There is no 'short version.' She led a nuanced life, Eeris, one that would take me quite a while to explain."

"Just give me _something_ ," Eeris said. "Please."

Odo's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and Eeris withstood the eye contact for only a second or two before she had to look away. His gaze was too intense. Even in the dim lighting of the Promenade, it was as if there were whole oceans, whole _worlds_ , just in his eyes. Shadowed, they looked like dark caverns, just begging to be explored. The last thing Eeris wanted was to be dragged into the depths of those eyes.

"She was nothing like the Figurehead you speak of," Odo finally said. "That's all you need to know."

"No, it's not," Eeris said, frustrated. "That hardly even answers my question at all. That literally just knocks aside everything I _already_ knew about her! You're just piquing my curiosity, Odo!"

Odo chuckled. "Am I."

"What?"

"Does that mean you'd be less opposed to having me on board the _Challenger_ with you?"

Eeris swallowed and looked away.

"I see," Odo said. "So you want me for my ability to teach you…or my memories of Kira Nerys. Not for me, as a person."

Eeris cleared her throat. "I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

"Well…"

"It's alright," Odo said. "Miro clearly doesn't want me on board. You won't even have to consider dealing with me."

Eeris sighed. "I just wonder…if I'm doing the wrong thing."

"Hmph! I should think—"

"I just mean," Eeris cut him off, "the Emissary—"

"Ahhh," Odo nodded. "You're afraid that by defying his wishes, you're doing something wrong. Nerys was the same way with the Prophets."

Eeris blinked. "She believed in the Prophets?"

"Never mind. Eeris, you don't need to do everything the Emissary tells you to do. Perhaps he suggested me because he wanted to give you hope of getting your arm back and your metamorphic abilities under control—it must have added an extra incentive to capitulate to his wishes and escape Bajor. And he reached out to me because he wanted to make that possibility a reality. But in truth, you don't need me, and he never intended to tie you to me—he simply—"

"Miro's coming back." Eeris nodded over Odo's shoulder.

Miro was indeed coming back. But there was something different about him…Eeris hadn't known him long enough to read all his moods, but he _definitely_ looked to be in a hurry. He power-walked back to them, eyes locked on her, his entire body poised as if preparing to say something.

Odo turned, observed Miro, and then glanced back at Eeris. "I wonder what he got up to while he was…just thirty feet away."

Eeris had no idea. But then Miro opened his mouth and told them.

* * *

Miro walked away from the table, wondering when in the past few hours he had begun to care for Odo. Not enough to want the man to actually be in his life, but enough that he sort of—just sort of—wanted to just go ahead and tell Odo what the hell he'd done wrong. It was obvious Odo's mind was in knots over it. In Miro's experience, he had never particularly cared what others thought of him, but when he didn't _know_ what others thought of him…well, that was just frustrating.

But Miro refused to go there. That was what made the temptation to just talk to Odo annoying. He could hardly stand to think about it—he knew from experience that reflecting back on those times was always a recipe for disaster. He'd long since learned to distract himself with the chaos of the galaxy and his crusade against Empress Viresa's conquests, lest Ezri's memories return to the forefront of his mind and Jadzia's voice encourage just enough rational, objective thought to actually _focus_ on them.

But fate, it was hard to hate Odo now. It had been so easy when he only had memories, some concocted just to help cope, to go off of. He had invented a version of Odo that had never existed just so that he could hate the man who had caused the galaxy's downfall. It had been _easier_ when he hated Odo. Easy to explain away the Founder's actions and categorize him as the enemy, and forget he had motives just as complex as those of anyone else with whom Miro had ever crossed paths. But no, now Odo had to show up in the flesh and act just like his old self again, the one Jadzia had known. The one that was obsessed with order, the one that had the kind of compassion necessary to travel _seventy years_ just on the off chance that someone needed his help. That Odo wasn't the one Miro had invented. And he found he _couldn't_ hate this man.

Which just turned his betrayal into the betrayal of a friend. Which was far worse than that of an enemy. It hurt worse, because there was more trust associated with it. Miro wished he could go back to hating the man. He made a fist in his pants pocket.

 _This_ was the sole reason why he could not allow Odo on board his ship. The _Challenger_ was Miro's space and Miro's alone. It was the only place in the galaxy that was wholly his. He'd left his life on Trill behind, along with the house he'd grown up in and the people he'd once loved. Still loved. Would always love. The people he knew he would never see again.

And his life with Naral was gone, too. He shouldn't have indulged himself in the first place. But what was done was done, and he was just lucky he'd gotten the _Challenger_ out of it and hadn't been stuck ferrying himself across the galaxy on the odd transport or cargo ship. Then again, Miro wasn't exactly new to life, and he was good at maneuvering his way around. He knew he could have ended up with the _Challenger_ , fair and square, no matter what happened.

Naral, though…

He shook his head, cutting off that train of thought. Naral was one of many people best forgotten. Miro didn't do friendships. He didn't get close to people. It was a decision Dax protested at its very core, joining the symphony of complaints from his past hosts. He was, after all, the first Dax to be determinedly antisocial. He'd tried social with Naral, though, and she had proven just how wrong he was to trust others besides himself. There was nothing in this torn and imploding galaxy that Miro placed faith in besides his own actions, fate, and the reliability of his ship.

He would protect Eeris. She was young and bold and had so much potential—and, truth be told, reminded him a bit of himself at her age. But trust…well, suffice to say, that was something Miro hoped she would never ask of him.

As he walked, putting the distance Odo had requested between him and the replimat table, he did not fail to notice the dark forms that loitered in the shadows. It was dark enough—and their dark uniforms was camouflage enough—that Miro might not have noticed them at all, had he not expected their presence. It wasn't the first time he'd caught sight of them on Deep Space Nine, those gray-scaled forms with the spoon-shaped rise on their foreheads. The first time had been after his last encounter with Viresa, when he'd gotten wind of a possible future occupation of Bajor. Of course, that didn't make sense. Viresa wasn't interested in Bajor any more than Miro was, and the Cardassians didn't have the resources for another occupation without the help of the Romulans. Still, it looked like the Cardassians were making their move anyway. Foolish.

Miro stopped some distance away from the table, one ear trained on Eeris and Odo's conversation. He couldn't really hear what they were saying, but he wanted to be ready in case she needed him. He kept his face averted so she wouldn't think he was watching. He wouldn't fool a practiced detective like Odo, he knew that, but he wasn't out to fool his old Changeling friend. If all went according to plan, Odo would be out of his hair within the hour.

He was a good fifteen paces away when a ripple overtook his surroundings.

Miro staggered and spun around, trying to get his bearings, just in time for the promenade bulkheads to swim steadily back into focus. Miro turned on his heel, hackles raised, poised to attack. He was surprised when a heavy, familiar hand settled on his shoulder, and the familiar voice of a one-time friend rumbled behind him.

"Easy, Dax."

Miro whirled, dislodging the hand from his shoulder, and his jaw dropped. Standing before him was none other than Captain Benjamin Sisko himself. It took Miro a moment to figure why no one else seemed to be noticing the god standing on the promenade—of course, Benjamin had come to see Miro alone. The thought rankled. Nine hundred years, and _now_ he came.

Of course, the man was a god now, but one would never be able to tell from the looks of him. He was dressed in Bajoran civilian garb. The Starfleet uniform was gone. Just as well, Miro supposed. A god had no need to hold onto a Starfleet commission, even in spirit.

When Eeris had first mentioned her vision from Benjamin, back when she and Miro had first met and before they'd crossed paths with Odo, Miro's heart had thudded at the realization that Benjamin was alive and well. There was no relief to be felt, and he hadn't really expected any. After all, what was the use in worrying about the wellbeing of a god? Benjamin could take care of himself. Of course, it was nice to know that a friend Miro had known as long and respected as much as Benjamin was still in the game, but Miro felt none of Curzon's or Jadzia's or Ezri's affection for the man. That had been nine hundred years ago. Times had changed now.

"I see you haven't changed, Dax," Benjamin said. "Still as stubborn as I remember."

"Leave me alone!" Panic pooled in Miro's chest. "I have nothing to say to you!"

Benjamin ignored him, walking closer. "What the hell are you thinking, Dax? You haven't seen Odo in nine hundred years. I should think this would be the perfect time for a reunion."

"The perfect time," Miro said, "was nine hundred years ago."

"Dax…"

"Nine hundred years, Benjamin," Miro said. "Nine hundred years, and not one word! I would have put my faith in the Prophets—you're a god, you know that! And in all these years, did you ever once think to drop by and say hello? Or are you too busy being a god to care about the people who used to be your friends? There aren't many of us left, Benjamin! It's just me—and Odo!"

"As you can see, I've already made contact with Odo," Benjamin said. "I sent him your way over seventy years ago."

"You want him to fix what you messed up," Miro said. "Well, look here, Benjamin. You may be a god now, but I'm a twelve-hundred-year-old Trill and I'm _still_ older than you. I've seen this galaxy rise and fall. I watched the Dominion threaten everything we hold dear and I fought the Jem'Hadar myself, or have you forgotten that? And when the wormhole closed, I held the tattered strands of this galaxy together. I've seen everything you've seen and more, but I've had to _live_ with it. I didn't have a choice, Benjamin. One word, one wave of the hand, and you could have altered history. But you never once stepped in. And _I've_ had to live with it."

"I expected more from you, Dax," Benjamin said. "I thought after all this time, you'd be tempered by wisdom."

"I used to be," Miro said. "But wisdom doesn't work out here in the great unknown. I've had to learn to fly by the seat of my pants. And I'm not the Dax you used to know, Benjamin. So get that into your head before you order me on any missions. I'm not your subordinate anymore, and I'm not your supplicant either. You're no Emissary to me, not so long as your Prophets are dead."

Benjamin held up his hands in surrender.

Had the insufferable man tried to argue his case, or pull some Prophet bullshit on the slim chance that Miro would listen, Miro would have walked away right then and never spoken to Benjamin again. But somehow, that shrug of surrender brought him back to a time nine hundred and two years ago, when he—as Jadzia—had been so prideful that he had almost thrown away his marriage to Worf. Except now it was Benjamin who was knee-deep in the arrogance that came with being all-powerful, and who was now surrendering. Just as Jadzia had, right before literally crawling back to Sirella to beg forgiveness.

"Fine," Miro said. "I'm listening."

"You're remembering Jadzia and Worf's wedding," Benjamin said.

"Don't start getting all arrogant mind-reader on me."

"I meant no such thing." Benjamin smiled. "I'm glad you can remember Jadzia that well. It was some time ago."

"She's left a memorable imprint," Miro said. "And it's hard to forget the host who tries to fight you on everything you do. I'm lucky I haven't succumbed to her temptation and returned to Bajor."

"Why don't you?"

"You're a god. You know why."

"True." Benjamin sighed. "Well, it makes no difference. I'm still glad Jadzia remains in the forefront of your memory. Because that's who I need right now."

"Jadzia."

"Yes."

"Not me. Miro."

"Jadzia was Odo's friend. You aren't."

"Oh, I see what you want." Miro jabbed a finger at Benjamin. "Don't even try that. I'm not going to be Odo's friend."

"I'm not asking you to be. I'm asking you to remember Jadzia."

"And I'm refusing. You _know_ what he did to me—to Nerys."

"Damn it, Dax!" Benjamin said. "The whole galaxy doesn't revolve around you!"

Miro smiled. "Now that's the Benjamin I remember."

Benjamin sighed. "What can I do to convince you…"

"If I agree to give Odo a chance," Miro said, "will you leave me alone?"

"I need you to do more than _that_ ," Benjamin said. "I need you to take him on board your ship, no questions asked."

"Benjamin, please…"

"If you do that for me, you won't hear from me again."

Miro groaned. "You have got to be kidding me. I trade getting this whole nightmare behind me for stopping you from showing up for the rest of my existence?"

"I wish I didn't have to ask this of you," Benjamin said.

"Like hell you don't."

"Just promise me that, Dax," Benjamin said. "I'll leave you alone. You'll never see me again."

Miro sighed. "Fine. But you have to swear it. Swear it on Bajor! If I agree to this, I wanna get my money's worth."

"Only if you're sure," Benjamin said. "One word from you, and I'll change the deal. You don't have to lose me forever."

"Never been more sure in my life," Miro said. "We were friends once. That was before you left me to deal with the galaxy. Before you left it to implode all around me. Before you turned into a god and chose the Prophets over me! The deal stands, Benjamin. You leave me alone indefinitely, and I'll talk to Odo. Don't promise me that, and I promise you I can make life difficult for you. I've gotten good at riding the waves of fate and I know how to shape them to my liking."

"Very well, then," Benjamin said. "I swear on Bajor that I won't speak to you again. But I hope you'll change your mind."

"Don't count on it," Miro said.

Benjamin's form wavered and disappeared. And if he looked a bit disappointed—maybe even a little hurt—as he faded out of corporeal existence, well, then…that was no one's fault but his own.

Miro turned around. Odo and Eeris were still talking, and it looked like Eeris wasn't too uncomfortable with the situation. Good. Maybe she wouldn't take his next request too badly. It occurred to him, though, that he was only likely to confuse them with his sudden change of heart—and his desperation to go with it, lest he cross paths with Benjamin again.

He headed toward them, picking up his pace as he drew near. Eeris, facing him, noticed him first and drew Odo's attention in his direction. Odo looked curious…Eeris actually looked a bit alarmed. Maybe that was to be expected—Miro did realize he hadn't been anything but calm since she'd first met him only a while ago.

"Kid," he began, "you probably won't like this…"

Eeris peered at him, confused. Miro powered on.

"I need you to let Odo on board," Miro said. "I was just talking to Benjamin, and why he thinks he can randomly pop in and demand favors is beyond me, but for some reason he wants us together, and he promised that if I let him on board he'd never talk to me again, so if we do this Benjamin will leave me alone and I can rest in peace with that, so…"

Eeris gaped at him. Odo was watching him a bit incredulously, but also gratefully.

"I'm sorry," Miro said. "I know you don't want to be around him, and honestly neither do I, but Benjamin said…"

"Far be it from me to argue with the Emissary," Eeris said. "I guess he's coming on board, then."

Odo sighed. If Miro knew him as well as he thought he did, the Changeling was probably disappointed Eeris had only agreed on account of the Emissary.

"Okay then." Miro took a deep breath. "Odo?"

Odo smiled. "I may not entirely approve of the way I'm being bounced around like some kind of child's toy, but I _do_ want to come on board."

"That's settled then," Miro said. "Let's go before anyone changes their mind."

He turned on his heel and hightailed it back to the _Challenger's_ airlock.


	4. Chapter 4

The _Challenger_ was a small ship. Eeris didn't have much for comparison, but it didn't seem to her that a ship could get much smaller. There was a tiny cockpit space with a pilot seat, a copilot seat, and a small space just before the rear bulkhead where a third person could barely fit. Miro had that space filled with crates and other boxes, probably miscellaneous items he was waiting for the right time to sell. Behind that space was a small hallway that led to five rooms, and aft of that, the airlock. Eeris had yet to explore the other rooms of the _Challenger_ ; she imagined Miro had a bedroom somewhere, and one of the rooms was probably a storage space for the items he bought and sold.

"Just stay out of the back, and, uh…don't touch the controls!" Miro lunged to defend the control panel up front from Odo's perceived threat. "Anywhere else is fine, I guess…oh, but Eeris has the copilot's seat, don't wanna take that away from her. Just, uh…yes, there is fine. Should be, at least."

Odo was silent as he settled atop the crates in the back of the cockpit. Eeris wished he'd maybe disappear into the back, let her pretend he wasn't there at all, but he did no such thing.

"Wait…" Miro regarded the seating arrangements with his hands on his hips. "Move for a second."

Hesitantly, Odo stood and backed out of the way.

Miro reached over and dragged the crates, one by one, into the corridor. When he finished, he came back into the cockpit, dusting off his hands.

"There we go," he said. "Should be less claustrophobic now."

Eeris almost wished Miro had kept the crates where they were, because at least then Odo would have had something to sit on. As it was, he settled into a makeshift chair. Literally. He morphed a chair stuck to his hind end and sat in it. Eeris couldn't help staring—in both awe and fear—in the five seconds it took for Miro to hiss her name and draw her attention back to the viewscreen. It was five seconds too late, apparently, because Eeris heard a liquid sound in the back soon after, and when she next looked where Odo had been, he was gone.

"He's so… _alien_ ," she whispered to Miro.

"I noticed," Miro said.

"How are you not afraid?"

Miro chuckled. "You kidding me? I thought you joined up with me literally because I'd been all over the galaxy. _Alien's_ normal to me, kid."

"Right," Eeris said, wondering how she'd managed to forget that.

"Though not _that_ alien," Miro added. "At least the aliens I'm used to all have arms and legs."

"He has arms and legs," Eeris said.

"He did a moment ago. Who knows what he looks like now, while we can't see him. The guy's a gelatinous puddle, Eeris."

 _A gelatinous puddle._ Eeris had trouble picturing that.

"So how did you two know each other?" Eeris asked.

"Me? Know him?" Miro shook his head. "You can't know Odo, kid. Not unless your name is Kira Nerys. And I'm not convinced even she knew him inside and out."

"You know what I mean," Eeris said. "When I asked you about him before, I got the impression he was some sort of enemy of yours. Which kinda surprised me—I didn't think you'd have any enemies. But now it seems like you two used to be friends."

Miro laughed. "We were both on the station's senior staff, kid. Nine hundred years ago." A smile tugged at his mouth, but he didn't let it spread. "Security chief, he was. And I already told you what I did. I was Jadzia for six of those years, Ezri for the last. And Ezri…" His eyes unfocused in recollection. "…she stayed around for a couple of years after that, but soon enough Dax was off to a new host. Actually…" He paused and glanced at her. "Oh, fate, shut me up. Can't seem to stop chatting when it's you I'm talking to."

"Go on," Eeris said. "You're the first person who's ever talked to me like this. I don't mind."

Miro chuckled. "You're sure isolated, aren't you, kid?"

"Not so much anymore," Eeris said, smiling.

Miro smiled back. "Yeah, I'll grant you that. Couple days on the _Challenger'll_ do that for you. Wait till you've spent a couple weeks with me, and there won't be anything you haven't seen." The smile suddenly fell off his face and he stiffened. "Anything at all."

"You were telling me about Ezri," Eeris reminded him, hoping to distract him.

Miro shook his head. "Never mind about her. I don't really want to talk about it."

"Why not?" Eeris asked.

"I just can't," Miro said. "It's a whole can of worms."

"Can of what?"

"Human expression." Miro smiled. "No idea where it came from. I mean…what's so bad about a can full of worms?"

"No idea," Eeris said. "What's a worm?"

Miro grinned at her, and though they seemed to have moved on from the conversation Eeris was most curious about—Ezri—she was glad she seemed to have cheered him up. She decided, inexplicably, not to press him about Ezri. Or even Kira Nerys. Odo had known about her, so Eeris could still possibly learn what she wanted to learn. She had very little idea why she'd decided to give up on asking Miro, though. Usually when answers were unforthcoming, she only pressed for them harder. But Miro…Miro was different. He was unlike anyone she'd ever met before, underlined by the mere fact that he gave her the time of day and didn't stare unnecessarily at her shoulder stump. Why that made any difference, Eeris didn't know. It just did.

Her mind circled back to Odo. "Have you noticed his _face_ , though?"

"What about it?"

" _Nothing_ upsets him. You can't read him at all."

Miro made a little side smile as he imputed a new course. The _Challenger_ completed its arc over the space station and headed out into the great beyond of space.

"He's a private man, that Odo," Miro said. "I'm surprised he's so willing to help you, after all the crap you've given him today."

"He follows the Emissary," Eeris said. "That's why he's here, helping me."

Miro scoffed. "No, he doesn't."

"But the Emissary brought him here—that's the only way—"

"Kid, no one 'brought' Odo anywhere," Miro said. "Believe me, I knew him for seven years, I'd know. He never followed anyone's agenda but his own, and certainly never the Emissary of the Prophets. Doesn't matter that that's his old commanding officer—he only ever followed Captain Sisko, not the Emissary."

"Captain Sisko," Eeris repeated.

"What about him?"

"It's just…a little strange that the Emissary was once a humanoid like you and me. It's hard to wrap my head around."

Miro laughed. "You know what's hard to wrap _my_ head around? That the young and brash ensign I knew over nine hundred years ago is now a god with limitless control over this galaxy."

"You knew him well? When he was…one of us?"

"You could say that," Miro said.

"And Odo?"

"As well as any subordinate officer could."

"So you weren't all…friends."

"We were. In a way." Miro grinned. "Good times, those were. I sometimes think my seven years on Deep Space Nine were the best of my life."

"So why don't you _talk_ about them?"

Miro's grin fell from his face and his eyes slid to meet hers. Whatever had caused his change of mood this time, Eeris was beginning to suspect it was just a symptom of a much deeper discontentment. Just about everything she was curious about triggered this reaction from him. On one hand, it was almost frustrating—how was she going to get any answers if Miro wouldn't say a damned word about anything? But at the same time, she found she honestly wanted to give him his space where he needed it.

"There goes the station," Miro said, nodding out the port window, instead of answering her. "Last chance to wave goodbye."

Eeris scowled. "I'm not a _child_."

Miro laughed. "Tell _that_ to a twelve-hundred-year-old Trill."

Eeris tried not to be too put off by his blunt reference to their age difference. She had a feeling his twelve hundred years didn't really separate him from the rest of humanoid kind all that much—Trills still associated with unjoined species and interacted on an even playing field, didn't they? Of course, Eeris was forced to acknowledge that she didn't actually know all that much about Trills, but…

Her train of thought drifted as she caught sight of Deep Space Nine, growing smaller and smaller out the the port window. She looked up just in time for the stars beyond the viewscreen to tunnel into streaks of light. They hadn't discussed their course since the last time she and Miro had been on board the _Challenger_ , before they'd encountered Odo, before talk of the past and Miro's secrets had complicated their surprisingly easy dynamic. It was strange to think about, but she and Miro had really only met hours ago. It had been late morning, Bajoran time. Eeris's stomach growled traitorously, reminding her that she hadn't eaten lunch and they must have been nearing suppertime. Well, Bajoran suppertime. Who knew what clock Miro and the _Challenger_ were on.

Eeris didn't know their course, but she decided she didn't care. The only place she knew she wanted to go was away from Bajor. She wanted to hightail it away from that place at the fastest warp the _Challenger_ could do before that traitorous sentimental part of her mind started turning back home, to her father. She wanted to forget Bajor was ever her home. She didn't know how to do that.

Sighing, she slipped from the copilot's seat, leaving Miro at the helm. He either didn't notice her leave or didn't acknowledge her, and that was all right with Eeris. As far as she was concerned, she was still an independent Bajoran girl, fully capable of taking care of herself without her newfound companion doting over her every chance he got. It had been nice to feel accepted for once, but it wasn't something Eeris wanted to get dependent on. Miro was a breath of fresh air, but she didn't know how long she would have him. They had never discussed how long she would be tagging along. She couldn't afford to forget how to breathe the bigoted, hateful air of the only home she had ever known.

She retreated in back to Miro's replicator, which looked—surprisingly—a lot like the replicators on Bajor. There weren't many—Bajor was a world of farming, and its people lived off the land—but as Figurehead, Eeris would have been expected to travel around the world and stay in places that didn't have easy access to fresh produce, so she knew how to operate one. She rattled off the ingredients of one of her old favorites, a stew her mother used to make. It was one of very few things her mother had ever done right for her. She was just taking the bowel from the replicator and lifting the spoon for a bite when she heard a gravelly voice behind her. She jumped and almost dropped her meal.

"I heard you, up front," Odo said.

Eeris's exchange with Miro over Odo's alienness ran through her mind like a tape on repeat. She stood frozen in Odo's icy gaze. "…Oh."

"If you go to the trouble of fashioning ears every morning," Odo said, "you might as well make sure they're good ones."

"Uh-huh." Eeris backed into the bulkhead and tried a bite. It tasted like cardboard. Her stomach was doing flip-flops.

"Miro was right, Eeris," Odo said, taking a step closer. "I didn't come here on the Emissary's orders. He's not my superior officer anymore. In fact, I had half a mind to ignore him when he first contacted me. As far as I was concerned, I was perfectly content to stay right where I was…in the Link."

"Then…then why did you come here?" Eeris asked.

"I thought we'd gone over this already."

Eeris's mind reeled back to their exchange back in the replimat. "W-we did," she choked. "I just…"

"I'm the shapeshifter," Odo said. "That's it, isn't it? You're far too _polite_ to just say it directly, but you're afraid of me, because I'm more alien than anything you've ever encountered before. You never accepted your own differences, did you? You're afraid of yourself, but at least you're still a Bajoran. You don't understand yourself. And you know I can help you find that understanding. Tell me, then, Eeris, what are you more afraid of? Me, or losing your other arm?"

Eeris's hands trembled, sloshing her soup. She set it down on the nearest available surface—which happened to be the replicator itself—and watched in dismay as it dematerialized out of existence.

Odo chuckled. "I'm glad you can now afford me your full attention."

Eeris tried to take another step back, but she'd barely moved a centimeter when her shoulders bumped the bulkhead. She pressed her palms backward, hugging the wall.

"Kira Eeris," Odo said, "you do realize your fear won't hurt me, don't you? Neither will any words, any insults, you can think to hurl at me. I've heard it all before."

Eeris scanned his face, his body language. She had to gain some leverage. She hadn't left Bajor just to end up at someone else's mercy all over again. But Odo's posture was unreadable, his expression closed. He stood rigidly, arms at his sides. His mouth was a flat line and there was no coloring of his face—no flush, no paling, no change whatsoever. And then, as he tilted his head at her, she saw it. His eyes. They had widened, just slightly, and Eeris realized then that they were the only part of his expression he didn't seem to be controlling.

 _I've heard it all before,_ he'd said. But from whom? Perhaps the one person Eeris couldn't find any information on? Had Odo known the first Figurehead personally—as a tormentor, perhaps? Was that why Eeris reminded him of her? Not only because she was the first Figurehead's descendant, but because she had taken on the same role in his life?

"From Kira Nerys?" Eeris asked. "Is that why Miro won't talk about her? She hurt you both?"

Odo blinked at her, backed up a step. _Interesting._

"But you said you'd do anything for her," Eeris said. "Why? To keep her appeased, so she wouldn't bother you?"

He had a strange look on his face now. Eeris couldn't read it, but that was nothing new.

"Well?" Eeris asked. "Am I right?"

Odo didn't answer.

"Okay then, let's try something else," Eeris said. "She hurt you—was probably an enemy. I'm guessing that's why you were in the Gamma Quadrant all this time. I don't know what you were doing over there, but I know that's where your ship was coming from when we met up—Miro said as much. You didn't want to come back because of what she did to you. Bad memories, I'm guessing. But you still came—why? You said it was because of me. But if I remind you of her…"

Eeris trailed off. Her logic was beginning to fail her. She hoped she'd managed to snag on a truth somewhere, and Odo would fill in the blanks.

"Why don't we bring this psychoanalysis session to an end," Odo said, in a tone vaguely resembling amusement. "You're really not very good at it."

"That's because I can't read your reactions," Eeris said. "Not my fault."

"Ah. And you feel you need to read my reactions, why?"

Eeris couldn't think of an answer that wasn't along the lines of _You're alien and I don't trust you._

Odo, though, seemed perfectly able to read _her_ reactions. He took another step towards her, and Eeris tried not to shrink back against the wall. He was within arms' reach now. Eeris didn't dare take her eyes off his—they were his only tell.

"You can say it," he said. "I told you, nothing you can say will hurt me."

Eeris's vocal cords felt choked. "It's—It's rude," she managed to gasp out.

"You're afraid of being rude, and yet you know that I already know what you think of me? That you take one look at this unfinished mask of a face and see a stranger, an alien you can't trust? Don't you think, if being _rude_ is what you've worried about, you've already stepped over the line by being so obvious about your bigotry?"

Eeris mentally kicked herself.

"I'm not angry with you, Eeris," Odo said. "It's important that you know that. But I do intend to shove your own bigotry right back into your face and make you see it for what it is. Because until you do, until you accept me as an ally, if not a friend, you will not be ready for any of the lessons you want me to teach you."

Eeris swallowed.

Odo stepped backward and gestured to the replicator. "I believe you came here on a mission."

Somehow, she found her voice. "Uh…yes. That's right."

Odo smiled. " _Ratalla_ stew, was it?"

Eeris managed a nod and watched in wary surprise as Odo went to the replicator and ordered her dinner. He took the bowl and held it out to her. With shaking hands, Eeris grasped it. "I…thank you."

Odo smiled again and his head tilted toward her. "You may not trust me yet, but the least I can do is take care of you."

"I still don't understand," Eeris said. "If Kira Nerys was an enemy of yours, why do you care about me?"

Odo chuckled. "That's where you're wrong. She wasn't an enemy. Far from it."

"I don't understand."

"Eat your food," Odo said. "It's a long story. Perhaps I'll tell it to you sometime."

Eeris looked down at her bowl. "Might help me understand you. You know, why you came all the way here for me. Why you're being so generous. Why all the rude things I say ricochet off you like you're made of steel."

"I assure you," Odo said, "I'm not. But I might as well be."

Eeris looked up at him. And she began to wonder, as he watched her like he could watch her eat until the end of time and never be bored, if he meant everything he said about no words hurting him. Eeris knew that words were perfectly capable of cracking her armor, but she would never say such a thing to the people who spoke them.


	5. Chapter 5

About four daylight cycles of hard looks and cold shoulders later, they dropped out of warp just outside the Cardassian border. The multi-night trip had given Eeris the opportunity to explore one of the _Challenger's_ other rooms: the bedroom. Why she resisted exploring the ship in the daylight hours, she wasn't really sure, but it had something to do with this being Miro's territory—as they had never established a time frame for Eeris to accompany him, the newfound acquaintanceship they had struck felt delicate and unsure, and Eeris was loathe to disturb Miro's space.

It wasn't just respect for Miro's privacy that made Eeris nervous, though. Even on Bajor, living with her own parents, she'd always had her own room. Now, here she was, on a strange ship living with a man she'd known for less than a day, and forced to share the only bedroom available with him. It wasn't that she didn't trust Miro—she trusted him more than was probably wise—but still. She'd never shared a room in her life. And now she was sharing one with a near-stranger.

She needn't have worried about the bedroom, however. There was plenty of space for both of them, including a bunk bed. The upper bunk was clearly Miro's—the sheets were rumpled and strewn everywhere. Eeris should have guessed he'd be the sort who would never make a bed. The lower bunk was unused, but to Eeris's surprise, didn't look completely untouched. Instead of being a bare, unused mattress, the sheets were done up to perfection. When Miro had shown her to it, his nose had wrinkled and he'd stayed well away from it, explaining that it absolutely _reeked_ of antiseptic. For once, Eeris was glad she couldn't smell.

She had asked him why he'd sprayed it so thoroughly if it smelled so bad, but Miro had only gone silent, given her one of those sad looks that came over him at any mention of the past, and walked away.

When Eeris had questioned where Odo was going to sleep—there being only two beds—Miro had quickly assured her that he could just turn into a pool of liquid and sleep on the floor, so she'd best keep her feet in the bed if she didn't want to wake up ankle-deep in a puddle of Changeling. If the warning had bothered Odo, he hadn't showed it. The two had fallen into a temporary truce since the conversation in the replimat, and even Miro didn't seem inclined to break his end.

The planet they stopped at was called Nebez. It was located just outside the Cardassian border. They had a clear view of a portion of the surface out the viewscreen and what Eeris could see, she didn't like. The planet's atmosphere was dotted with a patchwork of swirling cloud vortexes and the land beneath was dark, reddish, and crosshatched with bright cracks and rilles. Jagged mountains as sharp as daggers broke the smooth squares of the surface and wherever the clouds touched, the land disappeared into a fluctuating, dark inferno. There was, however, one calm-looking patch of land in the northern hemisphere, one that looked remotely civilized. It was still nothing like Eeris had ever known.

Odo studied the planet cryptically. "That's our next stop?"

"Oh, it's safer than it looks. Just gotta keep to that little patch of land up north, and all we've got to worry about is your average crook." Miro grinned and retreated to the back of the ship, where Eeris heard him shuffle through a few items and then the dull thump of some things being tossed into a bag. From there, he called, "As I told Eeris, we're not gonna get a fuel warning until we're out of time and the only way to get out is to eject the pod. And we certainly don't want to spend a few months in _that_ cramped space. I wanna refuel and get some stuff to sell along the way. Besides, I got plenty of food to last _me_ a while on this ship, but we're running out of Eeris's stuff." He peeked out from the back. "So we need to do a little shopping. I wanna get some latinum on me. I got a good three hundred bars from the pawn shop back on the station, but that won't get us anywhere soon enough." He disappeared again for a moment, and when he next leaned out, he had the strap of a chock-full rucksack slung over his shoulder.

"What do you have in there?" Odo asked.

"Oh, blankets, food, the likes," Miro said. He deposited the rucksack in the back of the cockpit and returned to the pilot's seat. "Chances are we won't need it, but you never know with Nebez. I like to be prepared."

"Prepared," Odo said. "Prepared for what?"

"Honestly!" Miro exclaimed. "You'd think you've never been beyond Bajor before! Doesn't get much safer than Nebez in this galaxy. I mean, yes, it's a lawless world, can't expect the planetary police to save you around here, but it's better than things could ever be on a civilized world. Set one foot on Cardassia or Bolarus or Benzar and you're immediately accosted by a troupe of aliens in official-looking gear who think they can run the place. On Cardassia, it's almost funny. They can't control their own people to save their life. I prefer not to waste my time on those worlds."

"Tell me more about Cardassia," Odo said. "Captain Sisko mentioned to me that the Cardassians are the galaxy's pirates now? Are we safe from them?"

"When did _you_ have the chance to talk to Benjamin?"

"Before I came here," Odo said. "He managed to contact me while I happened not to be in the Great Link."

Miro rested his chin on his laced fingers, elbows on the dashboard. "Yeah, they're sort of pirates now. But don't worry about it, they never come near Nebez. They can't make heads or tails out of the disorder of the place. And regardless, the _Challenger's_ weapons could take 'em down, easy. She's been in tougher scrapes than the Cardassians before."

"And the Romulans?" Odo asked. "You mentioned they're allied to the Cardassians. Would we encounter them in this sector?"

Miro chuckled. "The Romulans? Visit the Cardassians on their own turf? Sacrilegious."

"Well," Odo said with a smile, "Nebez wouldn't technically _be_ Cardassia's turf."

"You're right," Miro said. "We could possibly expect Romulans around here. But honestly. We could expect Romulans _anywhere_. They try to be the galaxy's secret police." He smirked. "Not that they succeed."

Meanwhile, Nebez drew closer in the viewscreen. Eeris tried to pay attention to what Odo and Miro said—she really did—but she didn't have the background knowledge to understand what they were saying. For Odo and Miro, the movements of various alien races throughout the galaxy made sense because of their dealings with said races in the past. Eeris, on the other hand, had never known any people but the Bajorans. She was aware that there was life beyond her planet—the existence of peoples such as the Ferengi were no secret to anyone, perhaps because the Ferengi had, according to Miro, been allies for the Bajorans during this most recent era of history. Nine hundred years, and Bajor had fallen off the political map, or so Miro said. Miro himself had been the first alien Eeris had ever met, and Odo the second.

So as the two aliens who had become her shipmates conversed about which of the many alien species around was the most likely to cross their path, Eeris's mind drifted on to other subjects. Her eyes inevitably returned to Nebez. Her first alien planet. Her first real taste of freedom. Her first concrete proof that there was life in the universe besides that of her own people. What with its swirling storms and rugged landscape, Nebez looked nothing like what Eeris had expected her first taste of freedom to be. But then, why had she even bothered to harbor expectations?

The _Challenger_ was slowly drawing closer to the alien world. Odo and Miro had fallen silent as Miro operated the controls, maneuvering them closer to that ruddy surface. Soon enough, Nebez filled the viewscreen, and then it more than filled it. They were hurtling at breakneck speed toward that small patch of civilization. Eeris felt heat embrace the pod, and one glance at Miro confirmed his wide grin. He liked this place, she was sure of it.

Friction helped slow their descent, and soon the _Challenger_ was cruising lazily over a huge expanse of cosmopolitan city life. The first thing Eeris noticed about Nebez was the sheer amount of color. The crowded streets looked like a watercolor painting of thousands of different smudges and blurs of color. The buildings were decorated in all manner of ornaments and alien languages. There wasn't a dull spot on Nebez, and Eeris suddenly understood what Miro had said about Nebez being too chaotic for the Cardassians. She didn't know much about that particular species, but she knew that if they craved order, this place would overwhelm them before they could cross their first street.

Odo, Eeris noticed, had found a seat atop the pile of crates Miro had relocated to the corridor, and was watching Nebez pass by as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

Miro set the _Challenger_ down on an open expanse of pavement that Eeris was surprised existed. Immediately after putting the _Challenger's_ engines on cool-down and powering down the dashboard, he disappeared into the back.

Odo suddenly looked up. "I know why he chose this place as our first stop."

"Why?" Eeris asked.

"It makes perfect sense. I'm on board." Odo harrumphed and shook his head. "My presence annoys him, and he's getting back at me."

"I take it you don't like chaos any more than the Cardassians," Eeris said.

Odo gave her a look that reminded her so much of a hara cat caught in the rain that she couldn't help laughing.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

Eeris shook her head and looked back at the viewscreen, even though Miro had powered it down and it was just an opaque black screen. "Nothing."

Miro emerged from the back and entered a code into an access panel on the starboard bulkhead. The airlock rolled open and a gangplank unfolded from within before descending to the pavement outside, letting blinding light flood the cockpit.

"Well?" Miro asked, poised in the doorway. "You two coming?"

"If it's all the same to you, Miro," Odo said, "I'd rather wait for you in here."

"Nonsense!" Miro smirked. "You'll miss all the fun. Come on, Odo, live a little for once in your life!"

Odo shot Eeris a look that said _I told you so,_ and Eeris giggled behind her hand. It took her until she was standing in the airlock, blinded by the full force of Nebez's sun and watching as Miro and Odo walked down the gangplank, to realize that she had just had an exchange with Odo that didn't make her want to run for the hills.

"Hey, kid!" Miro called back, his voice reaching her through the blinding supernova that had overtaken her vision. "You okay?"

"Just need a moment," she replied, blinking. "Geez, this place is bright."

Slowly, the world came into focus, and the sensory deluge that was Nebez assaulted her.

Somehow, it seemed even brighter and more diverse than it had looked from above. Aliens of every shape and size bustled about, adorned with all manner of ridges and bumps, wearing every color of clothing Eeris had ever seen before and some that she didn't even know how to name. There were reds and purples and yellows and oranges and blues and greens and everything in between, and there were earth tones and strange alien garments that seemed to shimmer under the light. There were styles that seemed designed to show off every inch of skin possible—designs that Eeris was sure would only work for certain aliens with a certain lack of body parts, and not anyone on Bajor. And there were styles that seemed designed to cover up every inch of skin possible, designs that looked entirely too hot under Nebez's sun. Nebez, it seemed, was an "anything goes" kind of place.

It was the polar opposite of Bajor. And Eeris loved it.

"Kid!" Miro called. "Flea market's closing soon! You coming?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Eeris said, shaking herself and half running, half falling down the gangplank, unprepared as she was for the steepness. She fell straight into not Miro's arms, but Odo's, and noticed that she didn't even have time to shiver with fright before she was suddenly upright again and moving through the crowd. Miro elbowed his way through, seeming perfectly comfortable with his surroundings. Eeris didn't blame him. With his bright green eyes and fire-red hair, he was the sort who would stand out anywhere but on Nebez. Here, he was just another of the aliens here, and no one seemed to notice his outstanding appearance.

"Hey, Trill over there!" yelled a voice from the crowd. "What symbiont you got?"

Eeris turned, just in time for the source of the voice to break free of the crowd. He was a brown-skinned creature that seemed more reptile than humanoid, with scales lining his skull and claws on the tips of his fingers where his nails should have been. His eyes, too, were crocodilian, and he had the muscular build of a creature who'd spent years in manual labor.

Miro didn't even flinch. He spun around, unknowingly swinging his rucksack into a few unsuspecting aliens who had stopped to watch. "Who asks?"

The alien grinned. It was not a nice grin.

"You're Dax," he said, pointing a finger in recollection. "You're Dax, ain't you? Of course you're Dax—you're the only Trill dares come close to Cardassia! Hear that, everyone? Dax is back!"

"So what if I am?" Miro asked.

"You think you can escape me, don't you?" the alien said with a grin. "You think you're so slippery, you can slip right by. Get a new body, a new life, and you think everyone will just forget you. Well, Dax, it don't work with me. I remember you…perfectly." He ran a hand down Miro's arm. "New body, but I'm sure it's just as delectable."

Miro stepped back, out of his reach.

The alien paused. "You do remember me, don't you? I should think you would. I'd hope you wouldn't try to forget me."

"Oh, I tried, all right," Miro said. "Hard to forget the man who cheated me out of ten strips."

The alien roared with laughter, and it seemed to catch on with the rest of the crowd, reminding Eeris eerily of the time her cousins had turned against her back home. Miro's eyes flicked briefly to the faces that surrounded him before returning to the scaled alien before him.

"Very true!" the alien said. "And how lucky for both of us that I did. Otherwise, I might not have been able to get my chance with you, would I?"

Miro's expression was stony, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Well!" The alien clapped a hand on Miro's shoulder. "Let's let bygones be bygones, why don't we? Come back to my place with me. I've got a room on Nebez for a few rotations, and then we can head back to Lityzne. Whadya say, Dax?"

Miro folded his arms across his chest. "Your ego's more inflated than I remember, Iz'ork."

The alien frowned. His hand shot out for Miro's neck, but Miro blocked, one leg twisting around one of the alien's, and they both tumbled to the ground. They rolled around for a moment, the alien thrashing beneath Miro and still aiming for a choke hold, but Miro suddenly scored a single crushing blow to the alien's jaw. The alien roared in pain and then went still. Miro stood, dusted himself off, and looked around. The crowd had gone silent, every eye on him.

"Just a message for all of you," he said. "Don't try me. I'm not Sizran anymore."

Some members of the crowd exchanged glances, but before anyone could react, Miro stepped across the unconscious alien's body and grabbed Eeris by the arm.

"Come on, you two," he muttered. "Let's get out of here."

The crowd was still silent as they vacated the scene.

The minute they broke free of the crowd, into the comparatively open air of the market, Miro picked up his pace and Eeris had to run to keep up. She called out to him and finally grabbed his hand to slow him down. She heard Odo's footsteps behind them as Miro finally fell into step beside her.

"You okay?" she asked him.

"Fine," Miro said. "Wish you didn't have to see that."

"Hey, I'll have to see the galaxy in all its gruesome glory some time or another," Eeris said. "Don't tell me you're okay. You didn't sound anything like _you_ back there. You were so…quiet. Guarded."

"Can you blame me?" Miro asked.

"Not really," Eeris said. "So…what happened between you two?"

Miro grimaced. "Nothing I can't deal with."

Odo came up from behind them and fell into step next to Miro. "He won a bet, didn't he? But he didn't win it fairly."

Miro sighed. "Sizran needed the money. She was sure she could beat him, and she was right, she could. But what she didn't realize…was that he wasn't exactly an honest type."

"And she couldn't pay him," Odo nodded. "So he took his payment in…another way."

Miro winced. "It's in the past."

"I'm starting to wish this planet had a police force. I'd like to arrest that character."

Miro chuckled. "That's not the worst it gets, believe me."

"Um…good to know," Eeris said.

Miro glanced down at her. "Sorry, kid. You know I'll protect you no matter what."

"Will you?" Eeris asked.

"For fate's sake. If I can spare you the misfortune I've gone through? Hell yes. I'll consider it my gift to the universe."

Eeris smiled. "I guess this galaxy's not so scary, then."

Miro's hand came up to squeeze her shoulder. "Like I'd ever let harm come to you."

"I'd hate to interrupt," Odo said, "but is that our destination?"

Eeris looked up. Sure enough, they were approaching a set of tarps that lay clustered before them, just across the square. The place was barely a flea market, if that. The tents were lined up along the edge of the square, merchandise on display in piles, in crates, in glass display cases, on mannequin stands, and in more arrangements than Eeris could count. Miro strode toward it with the confidence of a shop regular, stopping at the edge of the tent and surveying the area with his hands on his hips.

Odo came up behind him, Eeris close on his heels. "What's the plan?"

"I don't come here for the merchandise," Miro said. "It's the best trading post I know. No set prices, and you can bargain these shopkeepers down to almost nothing. It's one of the reasons to be glad this is a lawless world. Now, you two can help me. Just look for stuff that's valuable—anything I can sell for more latinum, we want. Bring your stuff to me, and I'll go bargain 'em down." His eyes gleamed devilishly. "Trust me."

"Maybe we should each decide on a few aisles to search," Odo suggested. "It would be more efficient."

Miro laughed. "You trying to talk efficiency on Nebez?"

Odo looked around. "Granted, not the best atmosphere to impose order, but still…"

Miro shook his head. "Nah. Impose order on Nebez and you meet disaster. Trust me, this place doesn't like to be ruled. Why do you think it hasn't been conquered in nine hundred years?" He grinned. "Go on, Odo, you'll survive. We'll be leaving soon anyway."

Odo sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "I'll go see what I can find."

Miro waved him off. "You do that!"

Odo headed off, leaving Eeris and Miro alone at the edge of the market. Eeris's eyes roved across the great expanse. The sheer diversity of the products here was more than enough to take her mind off the previous altercation. There was jewelry and clothing and potted plants and miscellaneous mechanical parts and half a million other things that Eeris had never seen in her life. Even the familiar things were alien to her; the typical earth-toned clothing styles of Bajor were nowhere to be seen here, and the jewelry was made from stones from halfway across the galaxy. But Nebez didn't seem to have a particular style of its own. Not unless its style was _random_.

Eeris started toward one of the aisles, picking a direction Odo hadn't taken, but she suddenly realized she knew absolutely nothing about this shop. For the first time in her life, she was unknowledgeable and useless. A lifetime of Figurehead training couldn't prepare her for life out here in the wild. She had no idea what was valuable and what wasn't. She was lost in the deep end.

She looked up at Miro, embarrassment welling up from nowhere. "So…where do I start?"

Miro face-palmed. "Oh, fate, I forgot! You're totally out of your depth, aren't you?"

"Figurehead training didn't exactly prepare me for alien flea markets," Eeris said.

Miro sighed. "Still. If Bajor weren't so isolated, if you people actually traded with other worlds, then you might not be so lost. At least, I doubt a Figurehead would be allowed to remain ignorant." He shook his head. "Well, kid, just tag along with me, then. Can't go wrong with me as your tour guide."

With a shy smile, he offered his hand.

Eeris just stared at it. Her eyes flicked up to his.

He didn't retract it. "Come on. Haven't you ever held someone's hand before?"

Eeris dropped her gaze. Her mind reeled back to Bajor—to a time, years ago, when she had barely reached up to her father's knee. When he was "daddy" to her. When she'd skipped along the sidewalk, her skirts dancing about her feet and lifting in the breeze, her smile beaming because she had no idea what troubles were to befall her only a few months later when her destiny would be forced upon her. Her hand clutched around her daddy's finger, its small size nearly disappearing into his huge glove of a hand.

And then work had taken over. And she wasn't his priority anymore.

"Eeris?"

Her mind snapped back to the present with a start. She averted her eyes, hoping Miro hadn't seen her expression, hoping it wouldn't dampen the mood. What had he asked her? Oh, that was right—whether she'd ever held someone's hand before.

"It's been a while," she choked.

His brows furrowed. And then, without warning, he swept her hand up in his. She looked up into his eyes, startled.

"About time someone showed you some kindness," Miro muttered.

Somehow, Eeris managed a smile. She didn't snatch her hand back. She could get used to this, she decided. And somehow, she suspected that Miro needed this—this affectionate contact—just as much as she did.

"Come on," Miro said, tugging on her hand. "Time's a-wasting. Flea market won't wait."

He kept talking as they moved down the aisles, telling her about the worth of one item or another and how to tell and how to know when it was a fake, but Eeris stopped listening. She let his voice calm her and soothe away her memories of the past. She knew without a doubt that her father had never stopped loving her, but that didn't help at all. It just reminded her that she had left him behind like everyone else, and had probably hurt him the most. All because she wasn't a little girl anymore, and things had changed, and the Figurehead position had overtaken their lives, and his love wasn't enough anymore. Not if it couldn't save her from the destiny her people had forced upon her.

Miro didn't once let go of her hand, and Eeris wasn't sure if she would have let him.

* * *

Fun fact: The name for Nebez was taken from the Czech word for "danger" ( _nebezpečí_ ).  
Lityzne, another planet Iz'ork briefly references, is taken from the Polish _kosmopolityczny_ , "cosmopolitan."

Probably should have swapped those—Nebez is as cosmopolitan as you get—but it's too late now, the names for these planets are kind of stuck in my mind. I can't think of Nebez as "Lityzne."

In case you're wondering why I cheated you out of a taste of Lityzne, don't worry—we might explore it in a future installment of _Trials of Peace_!


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, I never!" Miro cried.

Odo held in his hand a slim paperback, the cover decorated with an image of a man and a woman staring soulfully into each other's eyes. The title was written in a language Eeris didn't understand, but there was no mistaking what the story was about.

Eeris found she couldn't help but stare. Odo, the most closed-off being she had ever met, holding a romance book like it was the most natural thing to do. The image didn't compute.

Odo cleared his throat. "I, ah, found it in the aisle for written works. I thought I might find something good there. I may not know flea markets, but I know literature."

Miro laughed. "Didn't think you knew _this_ particular sort of literature, though!"

"Well." Odo shrugged. "It doesn't take a romance enthusiast to see this one could be worth quite a lot. It's not every day you find an actual book with pages."

"Yeah, no kidding." Miro grinned. "It probably sells as a collector's item back on Earth. I'd never be able to afford it. But out here—here, it's a luxury no one knows how to price. Well, give it here—fate, a book like that! I'll make a killing on it!"

Odo, though, seemed to be lost in contemplation of the book cover. His thumb stroked gently over the cracked paper.

"Hey," Miro said, tapping his outstretched fingers together. "Wake up. You in there?"

Odo blinked and looked up. He still clutched the book as if he never wanted to let it go.

Miro's grin was devilish this time. "Come on, Odo, that's gotta be worth a fortune. You can't keep it for yourself. Tell you what—next sappy romance book we come across, it's all yours, okay?"

"What?" Odo glanced down at the book, then at Miro's outstretched hand, and seemed to come back to himself. "Oh. I, uh…of course." He thrust it into Miro's hands as if it had burned him.

Miro snatched the book away, chuckling. He dropped it into the basket he'd picked up and adjusted his rucksack over his shoulder. "Good work on that one. Go see what else you can find, will you? And don't get lost in the romance section!"

"Hmph! Of course not," Odo said.

Eeris noticed that he took off in a decidedly different direction than before. Probably avoiding the written works aisle.

"He likes romance books?" Eeris asked as soon as he was out of earshot.

Miro grinned at her. "Not so alien now, is he?"

Eeris hesitated. "Well…I mean…"

"I always suspected the guy was a romantic," Miro said. "I mean, seriously. Gruff icicle like him falls for that walking tornado of a Bajoran. Those two should have been an odd couple, but they weren't. It was crazy how well they clicked together."

"Who was she?" Eeris asked.

"Old friend of ours," Miro said. "She's long gone."

"But she loved him too?"

"Naturally."

"To be honest," Eeris said, "I can't imagine anyone loving him."

"Least of all her," Miro said. "She was about as xenophobic as they came."

Eeris swallowed and looked away. "I'm not xenophobic. I just don't trust _him_. He's too closed off and his motivations don't make any sense."

"I don't blame you, you know," Miro said. "There's a lot of people who don't trust him. But not because of anything _he_ did. He's a Changeling, and the Changelings are so alien a species it's impossible for people not to see them all as one being. And naturally, Odo gets put in the same box."

"Wait," Eeris said. "The Changelings and the Founders are the same thing, right?"

"One and the same," Miro confirmed.

"Are you ever gonna tell me what a Founder is?"

"Shape shifters," Miro said. "Metamorphs like you and Odo. Except they like changing their shape just for the heck of changing it, just to make it easier for them to mess around with humanoids. Not to mention, they're the leaders of a vast and brutal empire on the other side of the galaxy. Course, it's been nine hundred years since anyone's heard from them, but I figure they don't change easily. For a people malleable in form, they're super rigid in thought."

"And Odo's one of them?" Eeris asked.

"He was until he showed up this time and started saying otherwise." Miro sighed and knelt beside a jewelry case, examining its contents. "He resigned his post on the station for them. For _them_. I know he didn't just lose control; he'd resisted them for years before." He shook his head. "He _chose_ them over us. It's always been between his people and us, and he betrayed us in the end."

Eeris was silent for a moment. "Well, maybe that's alright. I mean, they're his _people_."

"If the Bajorans asked you to leave him and me behind just so you could be assimilated into their society, would you go?"

"No," Eeris said. "But I'm nothing like my people. He's a shapeshifter. So are they. And they're the only ones around who can do that. It makes sense."

"You think it's okay for him to leave just because he has something in common with them?"

Eeris shrugged. "It's probably more than that. I don't know. You probably know him better than I do."

"How should I know? His loyalties are as random as can be." Miro straightened, abandoning the jewelry case. "Nothing valuable here. It's all plastic, as far as I can tell. Come on, let's go."

They had just begun to continue down the aisle when Odo suddenly appeared around a corner and hurried towards them, one hand extended and closed in a fist. "Miro!"

"Find something else?" Miro asked.

"Something," Odo said. He opened his hand. Resting on his palm was a small amber stone.

"This," he said, "shouldn't be for sale."

Miro groaned. "You have got to be kidding me."

"You know what it is, don't you?" Odo asked. "You know it doesn't belong in a flea market!"

"I know it doesn't belong in your possession," Miro said. "I don't have time for this, Odo!"

"You don't have time to help out a helpless infant Changeling?"

"Well, right now, it's _not_ a helpless infant Changeling!" Miro cried. "It's an amber stone, and for all we know, that's all it is!"

"That could be," Odo agreed, "but I'm betting it's something more. And it doesn't belong here. Anyone could decide to buy it and take off with it!"

"And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Pay for it!"

"I'm not spending a slip of latinum on something I'm not gonna end up selling," Miro said. "You think trading's made me into a millionaire with plenty of money to spare? Think again."

"Can't you make an exception? Just this once?" Odo asked. "What if we leave it here, and someone comes for it? Would they know what it really is? Would they know it isn't an amber stone at all, that it wasn't created with the sap of a tree? Would they know enough about its true nature to claim that they could _care_ for it, nurture it, as it deserves to be?"

Miro folded his arms across his chest. "What makes you think I'm gonna change my mind?"

"And even if they _do_ know what it is," Odo pressed on, ignoring him, "even if they _do_ know the care it deserves, who's to say they won't choose to experiment on it instead? In all likelihood, this Changeling won't get the same treatment I did. I was a curiosity when I was found, and no one knew what I was or even that I was sentient. The experiments Dr. Mora subjected me to ceased when I proved I was aware of my surroundings. That was before the Founders became a threat, and ever since they did, I've had to ward off countless attempts to lure me back to Federation space for scientists to _study_ me. That's what could happen to this Changeling, Miro, and you know it."

"Have you forgotten that you're in danger yourself?" Miro asked. "Odo, I don't travel safe! If you're doing this to protect it, you can forget it!"

"Miro, please," Odo said. "I think it's worth the risk. I know this is going to be dangerous, but…I don't want it to go through what I did. I don't want it to end up in some cold laboratory, in the hands of scientists who aren't even sure if it's sentient. I don't want it to be run through machines and all manner of tests until it can't even tell up from down, until its cells are screaming with pain so much it just wants to be done! Please, Miro, don't—"

The scuffle of several sets of footsteps diverted Eeris's attention. Five men with scaly gray skin and gray-black uniforms had stopped at the entrance to the market. They were close enough that Eeris could barely make out their serious, reptilian faces, eyes lined with ridges, and an odd spoon-shaped rise on their foreheads. Eeris's stomach did a flip. There was something not quite right about these men, something far too deliberate for her liking. Something far too _regulated_ in this lawless world.

"Uh, Miro," Eeris said, but he wasn't listening.

"And what if the Founders are after it, Odo?" he asked. "You think I want another war?"

"If that happens, it won't be for another seventy years," Odo said. "But I doubt that it will. Remember, Miro, I was cast adrift just as this amber was—and did my people care about what I'd experienced when I returned? No, all they bothered to tell me was that the relationships I'd formed had no meaning! They dismissed everyone of my friendships as a product of spending too much time away from the Link. They didn't care about me. They had no reason to. And they won't care about this one, either, provided they even find it. But someone _should_ care. Someone should—"

"It's a dog-eat-dog world, Odo," Miro said. "Caring's just going to get you hurt."

"That doesn't mean it's not worth it," Odo said.

Meanwhile, the advancing aliens had drawn small electronic devices from their belts and now moved them in a sweeping motion, seeming to scan for something. They moved as a group, the two in front taking point and the other three moving as stiffly as statues. Weapons that looked vaguely like some sort of alien gun were holstered on their belts.

"Miro," Eeris said again.

"Hold on a sec, kid," Miro said. "Look, Odo, my mind's made up. I don't want the responsibility, okay? You think I want it to lead the same life you did? Hell no. That's no way to exist, especially the way the galaxy is these days. There's no chance it would have a peaceful life. It might never know happiness. But if it _does_ wake up, if it _does_ become aware and starts its own journey within this imploding galaxy, _I_ don't want to be the one who sees it fail! Because believe me, Odo, I care about it, too!"

The aliens were closing in now. Eeris backed up a step and opened her mouth to alert Miro, but Odo beat her to it.

"What are _they_ doing here?"

Miro whirled, and his expression froze faster than Eeris would have thought possible. Faster even than when that alien had first called out to him. "Hell if I know."

"Who are they?" Eeris demanded.

"Cardassians," Miro said.

"But—you said—"

"I know, I _said_ ," Miro said. "But they're here."

"What could they want?" Odo asked. "You said they don't come to Nebez."

Miro nodded at the approaching unit. "Looks like we're about to find out."

Suddenly, one of the Cardassians in front raised his scanning device higher in the air and panned it towards them. His eyes locked on Odo and widened.

"There!" he barked. "There! I've found something!"

A woman Eeris hadn't noticed before approached the men confidently from the sidelines. She was of the same species as the others, but her makeup and the way her hair was arrayed around her face transformed her into a female. Her lips were tinged a dark purple, her eyes bright and her carriage regal.

"Where?" she demanded.

"That one!" The soldier pointed at Odo. "It's a Founder!"

"I'm not a Founder," Odo said.

The woman smiled and walked toward him, booted feet clapping the pavement. "You're a Changeling. It makes no difference to us."

"Careful, Commander," said the soldier. "We don't know how it might react."

"Oh, I have a very good idea," Odo said, taking a step forward and enfolding the amber in his fist, which retreated to his side. "I might want to know just what you want with me. I might listen…consider your plans…and decide for myself what I want to do about it."

"And what might that entail?" The soldier raised his gun and sighted Odo. "How would you…defend yourself…if we took you by force?"

Miro stepped in between them, hands raised. "Hey, no one's taking anyone by force. What you want with him?"

"This isn't your battle, Dax," said the commander. "Step aside."

Miro set his hands on his hips. "I don't think so."

"He's a Founder, Dax," the commander said. "I don't know why you'd protect him. He's one of the ones who closed up that wormhole of yours, isn't he? Is he not the one who started it all?"

Miro narrowed his eyes. "I don't trust _you_ to carry out justice, that's for sure."

The scanner in the soldier's hand suddenly started beeping, and he waved it about. "Commander! I'm sensing another!"

"Where?"

The soldier moved the scanner very deliberately, tracing its signal straight toward Odo. As Eeris watched, Odo tightened his fist around the amber. Did he somehow think it was in danger? Why would the Cardassians want it?

"There," the soldier said, pointing at Odo's fist. "The Founder has it."

"I have what?" Odo asked, raising a barely-existent eyebrow.

"Oh, don't bother playing dumb," Miro said. "You know they want the amber."

"Miro!"

"What? I'm not gonna protect that thing, might as well get rid of it while we can." Miro turned to the commander. "If we turn over the amber, will you leave him be?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said the commander. "I'm not in charge of this operation. Viresa will not be pleased."

"Viresa doesn't know Odo _exists_. And you don't have to tell her."

"On the contrary, I must report every aspect of my mission," the commander said. "She is privy to every detail."

"I can't believe you're affording her that luxury."

"She is an ally, Dax. Not everyone switches sides at random as quickly as you."

"Oh, please." Miro stepped right up into the commander's space. "Don't tell me she's a friend! We both know the treachery she's committed, and you're going to be next, I just know it! So why don't you put your thinking cap on and get out of this while you still can? You want to be the next empire she drags down into ruin? Can your people _afford_ that?"

The commander was silent, and for a moment, Eeris thought she was actually considering Miro's words. But then she gripped his upper arm, spun him around, and pressed her gun to his chin. Eeris's breath caught, but then Miro rolled his eyes! Actually rolled his eyes! As if he wasn't afraid of her at all. Eeris shook her head incredulously at the audacity of the man.

"You've got a lot of gall for someone who never picks a side," the commander whispered in his ear. "Just remember, Dax, you have no friends in this galaxy. You've made sure of that. Except…perhaps…for this Founder?"

"I told you," Odo began, "I'm not—"

"Just—defending—justice," Miro panted out, tensing where the gun pressed into his skin. "You're under—Viresa's thumb—I don't—trust you."

"Miro," Odo said, "you don't have to defend—"

"Oh, shut up," Miro groaned.

The commander chuckled. "Tell your friend to surrender that amber"—she shoved the gun hard against Miro's chin, breaking the skin, and a trickle of blood ran down his neck—"or I promise you, Dax, things are going to get a little…messy for you."

"Miro!" Odo said. "Stop this!"

"What?" Miro said, raising a brow. "You actually care?"

"She can have it!" Odo opened his palm and made eye contact with the commander, whose brows had made a bid for her brushed-back hairline. "Just…please, don't hurt him. He hasn't done anything wrong."

The commander released Miro, who stumbled away and rubbed his bleeding chin with more irritation than fear. She approached Odo slowly, head cocked in curiosity. "You care for him, Founder? How badly do you want to save his life?"

"Hmph!" Odo crossed his arms. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because what we're dealing with here is only the beginning," the commander said. "I assume you're not from around here, Founder. If only you knew the havoc your friend here wreaks. But he does it for fun, mind. And one day, it's all going to catch up with him. I can bet you that—on my very life. On the lives of anyone living in this quadrant. No one stays vagabond, or untouchable, for long. Dax can outrun the rules all he wants, but there are people out there who want him to pay, people I work for, people I can't fight against any more than anyone else can." She looked Odo straight in the eye. "And if you value his life, Founder, I suggest you turn yourself over as well—it's the only way I can guarantee his safety."

"I trust Miro to guarantee his own safety," Odo said. He looked to Miro. "Well?"

Miro stared at him. "Well, what?"

"Well, am I any use to you? Are you safer with me gone?"

"Hell, we're all safer with you back in the Gamma Quadrant," Miro said. "But—"

"I can ensure that," said the commander.

Miro blinked. "What?"

"If he hands himself over, along with the amber, he will be returned to the Gamma Quadrant."

"In seventy years," Miro said, narrowing his eyes. "Yeah, there's a piece missing here. What are you not telling me?"

"I'm not an information service," the commander said. "Well? Make your decision, Founder. Are you coming with me, or not?"

"Something tells me this employer of yours won't take no for an answer," Odo said.

"And in that case," Miro said, "I think we both know our answer."

"You're making a mistake, Dax," the commander said.

"Am I?" Miro asked. "I don't think so."

"I'm afraid you are." The commander sighed and raised her gun, motioning her men forward. "You know what to do."

Her soldiers advanced, and suddenly five guns were trained on all three of them. Eeris and Miro exchanged a glance, and somehow Miro managed to make his reassuring. Eeris didn't know how he had any confidence in this situation, but then, he hadn't seemed frightened at all with a gun pressed to his head. He wasn't afraid of the Cardassians, and if Miro wasn't afraid, then Eeris decided she'd try not to be. He knew what was truly dangerous and what wasn't. If it was time to be afraid, he would let her know.

"You weren't sent to negotiate," Odo growled. "You Cardassians haven't changed at all. You always have loved the sound of your own voice! What was the point of this—to lure us into some false sense of security? To trick us?"

"No," Miro said, eyes narrowed, "she didn't want to follow orders."

The commander laughed. "I would never defy Viresa."

"No, but you'd hope we'd give you a loophole," Miro said. "What is she doing that she's not telling you?"

"Enough!" The commander motioned with her gun. "Take the amber now. We'll deal with the Founder…separately."

"Miro!" Odo called, holding out his closed fist.

Miro didn't waste a moment. The Cardassian soldiers closed on Odo, guns aimed, but Miro was faster, diving into their midst before anyone could react and then bolting clear of the scene. Almost before Eeris was sure what had happened, he was disappearing into the crowd beyond the flea market, out of sight.

"Odo," Eeris said, wheeling. "Did he—?"

Odo opened his empty palm. "It's safe."

Eeris blinked. Somehow she got the message that was a good thing, but on the other hand, Miro was gone and she and Odo were now surrounded by six hostile Cardassians. The commander apparently hadn't liked Odo's stunt with the amber at all, because she suddenly advanced on Odo and aimed her gun at his face. It seemed so much a part of her it was almost like an extension of her arm. Her shoulders were rigid, every muscle tense. They were definitely in trouble.

"You're coming with us," she growled. "Without Miro Dax, you have no leverage. If you refuse, I _will_ kill you. Better Viresa believe you died defending yourself than I let you go unharmed."

"You can't do this!" Eeris protested. "Why do you want him? He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Dax escaped, and with him the amber," the commander said. "I'm afraid you and your Founder friend will have to suffice."

"What justice is this?" Eeris cried. "You're not making any sense! You want the amber? Go get it! It just disappeared into that crowd!"

The commander turned to address her, but not one of her men's guns turned from Odo's head. "Little girl, how little you understand me." She moved toward Eeris, her heels chipping along the pavement like nails on a chalkboard. "I am not such a fool as to believe that Miro Dax—or any Dax, for that matter—can be caught simply by a chase through the market. If he was going to be caught, he would have been locked up years ago. Oh, fate will catch up to him eventually, but today is not that day. My orders are to do whatever is necessary to find the amber and bring it to my superiors. If that means taking in a couple of do-gooders who might just have some information on the man we're looking for, then that's what I'll do." She smiled. "And I'm in luck—one of you is a Founder. It appears the two of you have just earned yourselves some time in a prison cell."

"For how long?" Odo demanded.

"Not long, for the girl," said the commander. "She is of no use to me, though I suspect she may give _you_ incentive to talk." She turned to Odo. "You, on the other hand, Founder, will be serving a longer sentence—in the Gamma Quadrant."

"So you said." Odo tilted his head. "That's a seventy-year journey from here. I doubt you're willing to watch over me for that long."

The commander smiled. "No. But we have our ways to shorten that journey."

"Shorten it?"

"Somewhat." To her men, she ordered, "Take them!"

The men surged forward, two latching their hands around Odo's arms, while two others advanced on Eeris. Odo tossed her a warning glance, his mouth open as if to say something, but if he spoke, Eeris couldn't hear him over the pounding of her heart. She felt one hand close around her remaining arm and a bolt of electricity shot straight through her from the point of contact. She closed her eyes— _No—I'm not going to, I can't_ —but it was too late. The hand was gone, and so was her right arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Miro smelled freedom on the wind as it rushed by his ears. Running like a fugitive wasn't normally his style—he usually preferred to sneak around his enemy and confront them directly when he was ready—but this time, it was necessary. For the first time in months, he'd been caught off guard. He counted himself lucky for walking straight into Viresa's next plot by being on Nebez at exactly the right time, but it also meant the Cardassians knew he hadn't been expecting them—and soon would Viresa. He hadn't stayed one step ahead, and now here he was, running through Nebez's markets with only his determination to save the amber to guide him.

Odo and Eeris might wonder why he even cared, after all the fuss he made. The fact was, he wasn't doing this for Odo. Why would he? He was protecting the amber because now he suspected it was just a piece in a much larger puzzle. The only reason he could think of for the Cardassians to show up was to block his movements—Nebez was, after all, the closest thing Miro had to a planetary home. It was his turf, even if it didn't technically belong to him—or anyone, for that matter. It was the place every Dax always returned to—the central hub of the symbiont's life. And it was no secret to Miro's enemies that he hung around here. He didn't care how many dangerous characters followed him around; he wasn't going to let them stop him from living his life the way he wanted to.

Either the Cardassians had orders to start restricting Miro's movements, or they were desperate enough for that amber that they had tracked it all the way to chaotic Nebez. The former made more sense, but Miro wasn't taking any chances on the latter. If Odo was right about the little stone and the Cardassians wanted it, that meant that they had technology—and motivations—that no one had had for nine hundred years.

Miro glanced over his shoulder without breaking his stride. He couldn't see anyone chasing him, but that didn't necessarily mean anything in this thick crowd. The pavement rushed by beneath his feet, shocked alien faces only barely registering in his brain. Miro grinned and almost laughed out loud. This was perfect. Who cared that he was running _away_ from the danger? He could stare it in the face soon enough, as soon as he shook his pursuers, and he'd be ready when he did. And when Miro faced down his enemies, it made even the Cardassians tremble with fear. He didn't take his duty to this galaxy lightly.

Miro clenched his fingers more tightly around the amber. He'd protect it. It wasn't about Odo anymore—this was part of something larger. Something huge, something exciting. Something that was just his sort of adventure.

He glanced over his shoulder again. Still no one. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut as he remembered his reputation for escaping danger. Would the Cardassians have even bothered to chase him?

"Oh, fate," he said out loud. "I'm an idiot."

He slowed his pace and turned around, that uneasy feeling deepening and spreading. Had he really been so caught up in his desire to run, to escape, to ride the next wave that he'd forgotten to _think_ about what he was doing? It wasn't just him now! There were consequences for disappearing! Being alone and leaving friends behind had never bothered him, but that wasn't the point. Odo and Eeris were still back at the flea market. Hopefully.

He strode back toward the flea market, his arms swinging comfortably at his sides. He peered ahead, watching for the telltale stiff uniforms and gray faces, but the Cardassians were nowhere to be seen. That wasn't a good sign, either. They had a way of standing out, especially in the complete disarray that was the perpetual state of Nebez.

On instinct, he picked up his pace. He would be lucky now if everything went well. And Miro wasn't often lucky. He shoved his way between startled civilians and annoyed merchants. Normally, he'd pause and try to bargain a good price out of these loners—they were usually so desperate for just a slip or two that he could bargain them down to nothing—but now he didn't have the time. He could see the flea market now, just a ways ahead. He'd come here for supplies countless times before, often during his other hosts' lives, so it was a familiar sight. It was one of the few constants in his life. These rogue trading posts came and went, but somehow, Nebez and this flea market always stayed the same, year after year. The clerk changed, and Miro lost track of the faces, but someone was always there and that was what mattered. People no longer left much of an impact on Miro. It was _places_ that he remembered most often.

He began to wonder if that was changing. Was Eeris someone he would remember? But then, was Naral? Or Iz'ork, the one who had held a metaphorical noose around Sizran's neck for so long?

No, none of those people were permanent, Miro decided. Sizran's tormentor—the man would have liked to think himself in a relationship with her, sick as it was—couldn't haunt him anymore. Naral had been a passing phase, and Miro hardly regretted leaving her on Lityzne, even though she _had_ helped him escape Trill. And Eeris…who was to say Eeris would be any different? She would learn her way around the galaxy, she would figure out Miro wasn't the sort who kept his friends, and she would decide Odo's devotion was more trustworthy. Soon enough she would choose that infuriating traitor over him, and Miro would be alone again.

He wondered vaguely why the thought caused a cold weight to settle in his stomach.

What of Odo, then? Was he more likely to leave a lasting impact? Miro had been forced to admit the moment he'd seen Odo in the flesh that he'd been harboring anger toward that traitor for some time, which was…not exactly pleasing. He'd thought he'd long since gotten over what Odo had put him through. Okay, so maybe the galaxy was falling apart at the hinges, and maybe Viresa was too much trouble for one vagabond explorer with a passion for peace to bring down, but still—the past was in the past. There was no reason to _still_ be upset over it. It was Ezri, he decided. She was responsible for his anger toward Odo, just as Jadzia was (annoyingly enough) responsible for Miro not hating the man. And every host since then was just telling him to get over it already.

He _couldn't_ get over it already. As long as he was Dax, he carried Ezri with him, and the memories were _still_ too fresh. Even after nine hundred years.

Miro had run pretty far, but he was nearing the flea market now. He scanned the aisles as far as he could see, but there was still no sign of the Cardassians—or of Eeris and Odo. Miro swallowed as fear lodged as a solid weight in his gut. It looked like luck was going to evade him again this time. Something had happened to them.

Miro sighed and made his way over to where he'd left the basket, and sure enough, they were gone. There were signs of a struggle—scuff marks on the ground, disturbed market displays—but Odo was the investigator, not him, so Miro didn't bother to track them. Besides, he was useless on foot, and the Cardassians wouldn't stay on Nebez. Chances were they'd head for Romulan space, if Viresa really was the one demanding Changelings. And that was a fight Miro could win.

He swept his basket off the ground and made his way over to the pay counter. He had items to buy before he went anywhere, and maybe the clerk had seen something that would prove useful. Miro's easy stride came to him from years of practice. Years of stubbornly refusing to let the universe see the burden that crushed him, that had always crushed Dax. It had been so long that it came naturally now, as if he wasn't engaged in a daily battle against the memories of his former selves.

The pay counter was nothing but a worn table that might as well have been for sale itself, judging by its ragged condition. A makeshift currency drawer was laid out on its surface. Behind it sat a rather heavyset man with bleary eyes and a desperate squint. This clerk, Miro was surprised to find, was the same one who had been here when he'd come as Sizran a few years back. He'd aged since Dax had last seen him; his graying hair was now white and falling out in places. He looked human, which was possible this far out given the Federation's current spiral of misfortune, but there were enough human-like humanoid species that there was no real way to tell. The man leaned forward as Miro approached, struggling for traction on his makeshift metal seat, and squinted.

"You a regular?" he asked. "You look familiar, but I can't place you."

"Haven't been by in a while," Miro said as he set the basket of items on the table. He didn't mention that it had been a while since _Sizran_ had been here, and the clerk had last seen _Miro_ just that day. "I don't blame you."

The man riffled through his selection and then, without turning from the merchandise, squinted at Miro out of the corner of his eye. "You got enough latinum for this?"

"Come on, mister, when I saw these price tags I couldn't believe it," Miro said. "You're not really gonna charge me fifty strips for an inodine capacitor, are you?"

"And what the heck do you need this stuff for?" The man pushed the basket aside and looked up at Miro with interest.

"Hey, you're not a bartender." Miro was proud of himself for not letting his voice quaver at the thought of Quark—even after nine hundred years, it was hard to let go of the unnatural death of a friend. "You're just a flea market clerk and I'm a customer. I'll give you fifty strips for it all. That cut it?"

"I'd ask for at least a hundred for it all," the man said.

Miro shook his head. "It's fifty strips or nothing. You want the latinum or not?"

The man squinted at him. "Seventy-five."

Miro grinned. "Deal. Now you got any provisions?"

The man reached under the counter. "What species?"

"How about Bajoran?"

The man frowned. "That's _obscure_ , mister. I don't carry any."

Miro dug into his pocket and laid out the latinum. "Here you go. Thanks anyway."

The man scooped the latinum to his side of the counter and pushed the basket forward. "It's all yours, mister."

"The basket, too?"

"Eh, I got plenty others."

"See ya 'round, then," Miro told him with a smile. He grabbed the basket off the counter. "Hey, one more thing…"

The man squinted up. "What?"

"You happen to see a couple of aliens around here?" Miro asked. "One's tall, flattish face. The other's a girl, maybe fifteen, missing an arm."

"Yeah, they were with a bunch of Cardassians."

"Did you see them leave?"

"Cardassians took 'em off. The girl lost her other arm, too, but I didn't see how."

Miro set his free hand on his hip, his gaze intensifying. "And you didn't do anything?"

"Not my place, mister. I didn't wanna mess with the Cardies."

Miro shook his head. "Coward."

"Hey, I hold my own."

Miro sighed. "Well, thanks anyway. I gotta go."

He didn't stay to hear the clerk's reply. The sooner he sold his items, got some latinum in his hands, and got back to the _Challenger_ , the better. It didn't even matter if he wanted to save Eeris and Odo for his own personal reasons—which he sort of did. They had gotten themselves in a larger, more important, more ground-shaking plot, and Miro was a fool if he was going to step aside and let the future take its course. He wouldn't stand aside and do nothing, not where the Romulans were concerned. And besides, Eeris wasn't safe. And it was his fault—all his fault—that she was on her way into the galaxy's very heart of deception.

He had to protect the amber. And he had to make sure he didn't lose Odo to the Romulans—to whatever they had planned. He wouldn't necessarily rescue the man. It would be safer for everyone involved if Odo ended up in the Gamma Quadrant, permanently this time. But this wasn't just a matter of seeing Odo off where he belonged—he was part of a Romulan plot, and Miro didn't intend to let it succeed.

Instead of heading for the _Challenger_ , he headed off in a different direction. He wasn't going to be diverted from what he'd come here for. Cardassians throwing a wrench in his plans didn't stop him from needing supplies, Eeris from needing Bajoran food, and the _Challenger_ from needing fuel. And there was a good shop for the kind of random stuff he needed just across the way. He stayed casual now, not a difficult feat for him, gently shouldering his way through the crowd. Once or twice, he thought he heard someone call his name—thought he heard that rough, hissing voice of Iz'ork—but he told himself the part of him that was Sizran was just a bit skittish. She hadn't expected to run into the man who had exploited and eventually killed her, and Miro didn't take it upon himself to soothe his hosts' nightmares. He had enough of his own to ignore.

The shop of his choice was a small, brick-enclosed building with a large front window spanning the entire façade. There was a space across the top of the façade for the shop's name, but it had fallen off decades ago and had never been replaced. The door was made of worn wood and swung on hinges, an odd sight under organized governments. It was considered fancy here on Nebez, where the "government" was only a merchants' association with no agenda for improving the public infrastructure. Miro turned the handle and pulled the door open. Inside was a long glass counter that doubled as a display case and ended a few feet before the wall, where a door led to the main room. Behind the counter sat a thin, scrawny alien with green skin and bulging eyes. Pausing in the doorway, Miro slipped Odo's romance book from the basket and stashed it in his rucksack—he'd return to Federation space to sell it, and he'd make a killing. He approached the counter and leaned his free elbow on it, a casual pose designed to target shopkeepers' good will. Just a little sweet-talking, and they'd buy _anything_.

"You buy, right?" Miro asked.

The alien looked at him. "That depends on what you offer."

He had the flat, toneless voice typical of some species when they tried to learn Standard rather than pay for the implant surgery that came with a universal translator. Miro grinned and hefted the basket onto the counter. "Then lemme know what you'll take."

The alien ran a scanning device over the contents of the basket. "All quite valuable. How will you be paid?"

"Latinum," Miro said. "Ought to be worth a couple hundred strips, wouldn't you say?"

"I will give you two hundred," the alien said.

"Deal," Miro grinned. Now, that was good. That was a hundred-twenty-five strip gain for him. He wasn't half bad at this. "Now where's my money?"

The alien dumped a handful of strips onto the counter. "Will you require our other services?"

"Yeah, I wanna buy some food," Miro said. "And you got any fuel in stock?"

"Of course. You will find what you need in back." The alien gestured with one three-fingered hand.

"Gotcha," Miro said. "I'll be right out." Scooping the latinum—a hefty weight this time—into his rucksack, he left the basket in the alien's capable hands and headed around the counter, through the door.

The vast array of stock sold at these alien convenience stores had ceased to shock Miro about eight lifetimes ago. Nothing was organized for species; there were far too many for that. Shops like this barely touched on what the many forms of alien life had to offer. Miro headed down the food aisle, looking for something Bajoran. He realized belatedly that he had no concept of what Bajoran food even looked like, except for what little he'd had time to buy for Eeris back on Deep Space Nine. But Jadzia probably remembered. He silenced the voice in his head that warned him against listening to her and let her voice be heard.

 _Hasperat, maybe?_ she asked. _Is that still around in the 33rd century?_

 _I wouldn't know, Jadzia,_ he thought back. _I don't know Bajorans._

She quieted, studying the food selections with the tenacity of a xenobiologist. For the first time in years, Miro was glad to have had her as a host, though he wouldn't let himself get complacent. He ran his hand across the packets of dried fruit, making the plastic snap together. Jadzia turned her eyes to the top of the shelf and skimmed them along as Miro walked down the aisle. She mused as she went, taking her opportunity to look inside his head and dissect the thoughts he never let her see. She found Eeris in his memory and seemed almost to smile to herself. She would have liked to meet the little Bajoran girl herself. So much potential…

Miro dug his fingers hard into his palm. _Snap out of it, Miro._

His hand landed on an air-sealed packet of strip-shaped, processed-looking food.

 _That's it,_ Jadzia said.

Miro held up several packets. _These are processed. I'd like to actually give her a real meal one of these days._

 _We won't find anything fresh,_ Jadzia admonished. _Bajor is isolated from all trade._

Miro sighed. _Right. Fine. Now get out of my head before I lose my sanity._

And Jadzia was gone, as if she'd never been there. Miro breathed a sigh of relief. His control was getting better. The last time he'd let Jadzia speak, she'd wrought havoc, undermining every foundation he'd built his life upon. Isolation. Complete independence. Refusal to settle. She'd knocked them away as effortlessly as if they were mere feathers waving in the breeze.

He'd weathered that trial. He'd called Ezri forth from her perpetual silence, and she had quite vocally sent Jadzia into retreat. But it was always risky to let Ezri speak. Her memories were strong and her voice was laden with fear. But not just fear—sadness, loss, despair, disappointment. Self-loathing. Even anger, for she had never fully faced her feelings following the event. For all that she was a counselor, she couldn't counsel herself. Miro really didn't want to use her voice again. She was the strongest opposition to Jadzia that he had, but she was also just as dangerous—if not more so. But Jadzia was perceptive and determined, and if she wanted to crack someone's walls, especially someone whose mind she had complete access to, she usually could. Miro had no reason to believe he'd defeated her forever.

It didn't matter. He could deal with her when he had to.

Miro forcibly shut his doubts in a box and continued on. He _knew_ where the fuel was; he didn't need any past host for that. He breezed past the back corner of the shop, tucked a few fuel canisters under his arm, and then breezed back to the front counter. As he laid his purchases out on the glass countertop, he felt a slight tremor in his left hand. He bit back a gasp and pressed it to the edge of the countertop, hoping the alien hadn't noticed. This wasn't a good sign. This was never a good sign.

It was okay. Hadn't he survived much more than this? Was the idea of a past host trying to crawl her way into his mind really that scary?

At the last moment, he remembered to bargain, but his heart wasn't in it. "What's the least you'll take for that?"

"Fifty strips."

"Oh, come on," Miro groaned, more to himself than to the alien. He should have opened the deal at something more like ten strips, but it was too late now. He deposited the correct amount on the counter and drummed his fingers on its surface while he waited for his payment to go through.

 _Do me a favor, Jadzia,_ he thought, _and leave me alone._

 _And if I did, then where would Odo be?_

 _Safe. You know I won't let the Romulans win._

 _I'm not talking about the Romulans, Miro._

Miro almost groaned out loud again, muffling it before it could slip past his lips. Fate, no. This was just unfair. Granted, Miro had lived through nine hundred years of unfairness and actually learned to enjoy it, but _this_ crossed the line. Couldn't Jadzia see she was unwanted? She was intelligent enough. But no, she always had to meddle where she didn't belong. Just typical.

On top of Jadzia, Ezri was clamoring to be heard. Miro silenced her at once. She always tried to defend herself when Jadzia spoke up, but he didn't want to hear her argument now. He couldn't go there, it was too dangerous. He didn't want to remember. Not when he was essentially fighting on Odo's side. Not when all the wrong battles were going on, and the Romulans were making the one wrong move that of _course_ they had to make, and he was about to be dragged into a plot that he couldn't possibly—

"Good day, sir."

None too soon, Miro snapped out of his thoughts. What was he thinking? Dax may have been more of a curse than a blessing most of the time, but he was still a Dax, and no Dax ever balked in the face of danger. Especially Miro, daring adventurer and galactic peacemaker. The peacemaker who blew up ships and decked his enemies to ensure the best future. Oh, well, it was still the pursuit of peace, it just depended on how one looked at it…

Miro scooped his purchases into his rucksack and spun on his heel without looking back. His next stop was the _Challenger_ , where he'd refuel, store Eeris's food, and finally— _finally_ —take off in search of her and Odo.

He shouldered his way through the crowd more urgently this time, his gaze locked resolutely on his destination. He'd always thought the _Challenger_ was quite a beauty. Dark and sleek, the devil in the skies, she was a time-worn cockpit with engine nacelles that arched to either side of her rear like wings. Her hull had the shine of a ship almost never subjected to the elements of an atmosphere. She was an old ship—she would never pass a Federation inspection—but Miro didn't consider himself part of the Federation anymore, and she suited his needs. There was not a cargo she couldn't hold, not a battle she couldn't handle. She'd been in tough scrapes before and there had been times when Miro was sure she wouldn't make it, but she always came out all right. It occurred to him that they had developed a symbiotic relationship over the two years since he'd left Trill. She needed him because she couldn't repair herself after a close call, but he most definitely needed her. More than Naral ever had.

The _Challenger's_ 33rd-century autolock feature had drawn the gangplank back up in his absence. Miro punched his code into the panel near the landing gear and waited as the once-silver ramp descended. It gave him time enough to consider what he was about to do. This wasn't going to be a typical mission. Not only because he was helping Odo out of necessity rather than desire, but because he had an emotional stake in the outcome this time. Eeris.

Kira Eeris. The one person he should _never_ let himself care for. And her fascination with her ancestor, Kira Nerys, was a recipe for disaster. Much as it pained him, Miro had to admit she was better off with Odo. They had that fascination in common. And it would be less painful for him if she left him, than if he was forced to push her away one day. He couldn't keep her around. He wanted to, but he was being foolish. He didn't want Odo to have her, but things would be better that way. Of course they would.

The gangplank settled against the ground and he ascended to the cockpit, where he settled into the pilot's seat and tossed his rucksack somewhere near his feet. He took a long look at the array of controls before him. Miro knew every one of them like the back of his hand. And yet, he could remember specific times when every one of them had burnt out on him or failed him in some way. The _Challenger_ wasn't a rescue ship, she was built to explore. She had half a million grievances ready to blow and twice as many bugs in her system waiting for a moment to buzz. And she had limited firepower, weak shields, and only a couple of backup systems in case the main ones failed. In short, the chances against her success were high.

"Come on, girl," Miro said, patting her control panel. "Don't let me down now."

The _Challenger_ didn't answer him. Miro sighed, unscrewed her fuel cap, and poured one of the canisters into her compartment. Then he swept one hand over her controls, waking her up, and felt her rumble around him as the cockpit's lights brightened. He engaged her thrusters, lifted her off the ground, retracted her landing gear, and then swooped up into the sky to begin the steep climb out of the atmosphere. Muscle memory drove his hands across the dashboard, checking and engaging systems as they readied themselves. As the atmosphere thinned, the stars came out one by one and slowly, gradually, he was in space again.

Now to find that Cardassian ship, the one that had surely taken Eeris and Odo. The _Challenger_ registered only one ship nearby—or at least, only one that was visible. With the Cardassians still using the cloaking technology of their Romulan allies, one could never be sure. The ship had just taken off and was at the same altitude as the _Challenger_. Miro peered at his scanners and blew out a small puff of air. Good. There was one Changeling and one Bajoran on board.

The Cardassian ship sped to impulse. Miro adjusted his course to stay behind them. He wouldn't bother attacking. This ship wasn't the mastermind, it was just a minion. Cardassian ships rarely were in control of the game. They had engaged him in his crusade against chaos long enough to know his tactics—they wouldn't turn around and fire on him because they'd know he had no intention of stopping them. He intended to _follow_ them. Right on behind the scenes.

The Cardassian ship increased its speed to impulse 2 as it put more distance between itself and the planet. Miro revved up the _Challenger's_ engines and followed close behind it.

Out of nowhere, a phaser struck his port nacelle, sending him spiraling toward Nebez. Fingers flying reflexively over the controls, Miro managed to smooth her out and swooped back on course, barely grazing Nebez's gravitational field. No sooner had he straightened her than another phaser struck, this time on his starboard nacelle. Miro dodged to port—and then a volley struck brutally across his stern. Sparks flew from his primary systems. Cursing, Miro sped to impulse 3 and rocketed away from the planet. It was too dangerous to fight so close to Nebez—if he was disabled, he'd plunge right through the atmosphere and never live to see the next day. He checked his scanners, but there was nothing.

"Cloaked, are you?" he muttered. "Too cowardly to look me in the face?"

As if in reply, another volley of phasers struck and knocked him sideways. Something inside the _Challenger_ blew out in a cloud of smoke. The overhead warning light blared and the dashboard flashed red. Miro's hands scrambled over the controls as he fought to stabilize his flight. Smoke spread through the cockpit, filling his nose with an acrid smell. In the corner of the dashboard, numbers flashed—the shields were falling. 80%. 50%. Gone.

They were locking torpedoes now. Miro locked his hand around the joystick and pressed it forward with all his might. Maybe if he was out of immediate range—

Too late. The first hit knocked the _Challenger_ sideways, nearly throwing Miro out of his chair. He held tight, his free hand sweeping over the controls, as the torpedoes jostled him one by one. More sparks flew from the engines. Smoke billowed out, obscuring his vision. His weapons weren't responding. He cursed himself, cursed the Cardassians for taking his friends, hurting his ship, and messing with his life. He punched furiously at the dashboard, his eyes scanning it frantically for any message he had missed, any sign that there was still a way out, but there was no response. Nothing. The _Challenger_ was gone. She was dead, burnt out, on a steady plunge toward the atmosphere below. Miro took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

He was going to die.

Dax normally wasn't a fan of giving up, but Miro had lived long enough to know when he'd met his match. He'd always known this day would come. It was why he lived every day to the fullest—because after all the trouble he'd caused, after all the havoc he'd stirred, just to try and engineer the right outcome for the galaxy, he had too many enemies to ever live out this life. This was Miro Dax, signing off. If the galaxy was a lost cause, after all, he had nothing left to live for.

Suddenly, the only sound was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Eeris.

She still had a chance.

He needed to _get_ her that chance.

He needed to get out of this scrape, if only to keep his promise. If he could keep harm from befalling her, he'd consider it his gift to the galaxy.

His eyes darted over his systems. Everything was burnt out and sparking and the _Challenger_ was bleeping at him in frightened purpose. The dashboard was gone, destroyed, a hopeless mess of flashing lights and alarms. Well, he wasn't about to put her out of her misery now. It was time to turn this around. But how?

Nebez loomed large out his viewscreen. He'd been knocked close to the atmosphere. Too close. Any closer, and atmospheric drag would be his undoing—he'd fall slave to gravity within seconds. He'd be doomed.

Something else was approaching.

He leaned forward, broken shards of glass clinking under his fingers, trying to make out the glowing _something_ that was growing bigger in the dark space beyond Nebez. It was bright, round, something he'd never seen before. It looked as if it was burning, almost like a fire. That was not good. He was already damaged as it was. This wasn't just a torpedo—for all he knew, it was something worse, something even more dangerous, something that would knock him across that last span of distance and into Nebez's gravitational pull.

Unless…

It must have been Jadzia who voiced the thought, because Miro was no astrophysicist. He had just enough power to execute one last trick. For a split second, it was all clear in his mind—the trajectory he'd need, the impulse that would carry him, the impact the weapon would deliver. Everything made sense, even the gentle friction of the atmosphere. Gravity was a mere nuisance, and in this case his savior. And victory was his.

There wasn't a second to waste. Miro was just a pilot, so he let Jadzia take the reins. It would take too long to calculate it all himself. His hands flew over the controls, driven mental impulses he didn't control, inputting flight sequences he didn't need to understand. His eyes flicked over the numbers, taking it all in, letting Jadzia read and understand. And in the moment before the weapon hit, he knew he was ready. This would work. The _Challenger_ was his trusty steed, and she would always stand by him. And fate was on his side.

The weapon hit.

It made a low roar as it impacted. Then the crunching of metal, and Miro winced because he knew that was a scratch on her hull that couldn't be easily fixed. Then a louder explosion, a series of booms, and finally, finally, he slipped almost imperceptibly into the atmosphere below. A sinking sensation, like slipping into quicksand, as Nebez's gravity claimed him.

And then a sudden burst of power, a sudden increase in speed as the engines engaged, and he was flying.


	8. Chapter 8

The gun dug sharply into Eeris's spine between her shoulder blades as she was marched along. Inevitably, she stumbled, and the ground rushed toward her. Her captors had nothing to grab to pull her up. She prepared for the hard smack as the pavement hit her face, then the burn as the pain spread throughout her body—

An amber tentacle shot in front of her, brushing her midsection and stabilizing her. Eeris didn't have time to look for her savior before the gun shoved brutally into her spine, and she was shoved forward again.

They cleared the buildings and entered what appeared to be another city square, this one much smaller and devoid of people. The gun was rougher now, shoving her forward toward an alien ship that stood in the center of the square. It was gray-brown and dark and of a design so alien to her that Eeris felt more lost than ever. The galaxy had never before seemed so huge and expansive. There were things out there that she had never seen, didn't know, wouldn't recognize. And Miro wasn't around anymore to guide her.

She glanced to her left. She'd expected Odo to be having an easier time—he had arms for the men to grab, after all—but to her surprise, he had more guns trained on him than she did. While only one gun pushed her along, four were aimed at his head. He moved calmly, not a hint of a clue to his emotions in his expression. Eeris wished he would look at her, share some look of confidence, anything to distract her from the insistent press of the gun against her spine, but he never once looked in her direction. Eeris tried to lose herself in the rhythmic thumping of boots against the pavement. It worked for a moment, but then the woman in charge stepped out of sync and her footsteps threw Eeris off.

The woman drew some sort of controller from her belt and aimed it at the ship. To Eeris's dismay, a gangplank began to descend before them and her heart leapt up into her throat. No. This could not possibly be happening. They'd already gotten separated from Miro, and now they were going to be taken even further away? Would they ever see him again?

She was rushed up the gangplank and into a dark bay. The terrible screech and crunch of metal pierced her eardrums. And then she was hurled forward, shoulder stumps flailing. She landed on a dirty, musty surface, her nose pressed to the cold metal beneath her, and she felt some measure of relief that she couldn't smell. All she could see was the dark floor. Clothes snapped behind her…voices, then footsteps…and then someone else walked in to join her. That same terrible screech filled the darkness. And then the uniform footsteps moved off, stomping up some sort of metal planking and then fading out of earshot.

"Eeris?"

All she could see was the floor, so she closed her eyes. That was Odo's voice. Judging by its proximity, she guessed that he was crouched near her.

He sighed. His uneven breathing sounded too loud in the darkness. "We're going to find a way out of here."

"Oh yeah?" she mumbled against the floor, thankful that she couldn't taste it. "You got any ideas?"

He was silent for a long moment. "No, but I'm sure we can think of something. Together."

With an effort, she rolled onto her side, opening her eyes. The darkness was no trouble for her and she could make him out clearly. But his unnaturally wide eyes told her he was having more trouble adjusting.

"Who _are_ you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

She groaned, wishing she had the strength or the leverage to sit up. "The amber, Odo. What's so important about the amber? Why do you want the same thing these brutes want?"

He seemed surprised. "You think I'm in league with them?"

"Well, I noticed they let you _walk_ in here, like a human being," she said.

She'd seen it from the beginning. She'd known there was something off about him. His motives weren't entirely cohesive and there was no reason for him to be in this quadrant with no allies just because of her. _No one_ had ever cared for her that much, and no one was about to start. She'd set aside her suspicions, too determined to believe in the Emissary to see this man for what he was. But he _wasn't_ a man. He was an alien from across the galaxy who _said_ he was here because of her, but now seemed to want the same thing the Cardassians were after. And then had been prepared to give it up to them, for Miro's safety. What was to say he hadn't been sent by the Cardassians, and his mission was to retrieve the amber for them? And also…something to do with her?

She didn't trust him. She didn't trust _anyone_ who was allowed to walk calmly into this holding cell like they owned the place, while she was tossed in on her face.

"That's because I _made_ them." Odo shook his head. "If you'd been looking, you would have seen me shake their hands off me and walk in here myself."

"Oh, and I had absolute control over where I was looking!"

"I just figured I ought to go down with _some_ dignity." He looked down at her. "This is pointless, Eeris. We're both stuck here, and we need to work together to find a way out. Besides—I'm the only one with two arms."

Eeris groaned. "This floor's disgusting. You can start by helping me up."

Tenderly, cautiously, Odo gathered her in his arms and maneuvered her so she was sitting upright on the floor. He had never so much as touched her before, at least not in the flesh, but Eeris found his attention was surprisingly caring. He gently shifted her backwards and settled her against a nearby wall. His attentions were so gentle, almost hesitant, Eeris almost let herself relax. But she forced her mind alert. She couldn't afford to get complacent around this alien.

Now that she was sitting upright, she could see that they were in some sort of prison cell. The wall opposite her was composed of metal bars, but something bright—some kind of energy field, it seemed—flickered just beyond them. Beyond the cell was a dark bay. A ramp led up to some upper level, probably where their captors had disappeared to. Eeris looked down to check her right arm. Her shoulder ended in a smooth stump, just like on her left side. The skin had already healed, but the arm was gone.

Again.

What would be next? Another finger? A toe? A foot? She'd decided to escape Bajor because all of her troubles were there. It had never occurred to her that the galaxy outside might be a dangerous place; that she might be just as at risk for losing her limbs as she was from her homeworld's surface. She pulled her knees up close to her chest and wished, more than ever, that she had arms to hug around herself. She didn't even notice the tears that flowed down her cheeks until her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips, and she tasted salt.

"I'm…not much good with platitudes." Odo's voice was stilted. She glanced over at him. His was crouched near her, his face averted. "But for what it's worth, I think I understand what you're going through."

Eeris couldn't help laughing. What a ridiculous attempt at comfort! "How can you say that?" she gasped out. " _You_ don't lose your limbs at random!"

He shook his head. "No…you're right. But I do know what it's like to be held prisoner in a place I don't understand, even my own nature a mystery to me. And I, too, once ventured out on my own from a very isolated place, with little more idea of how to conduct myself than you have."

Eeris gaped at him. "You're kidding me."

"Not at all," he said. "I was a curiosity. A subject of intrigue, living among people who I thought were interested in who I was. They'd ask me to become something for them—a table, a chair—and I would, and I'd form myself back into my ridiculous semblance of a humanoid with an eager smile and wait for the applause, for the smiles…I'd do anything for them, I'd give them a show, I'd even be who they wanted me to be, but all they really wanted was…to _laugh_ at me. I wasn't one of them." He paused. "Eventually, I got up my courage and left Bajor. I defied them. And I've taken pleasure in defying them ever since."

"Left _Bajor_?" she repeated. "But Miro says you're from the Gamma Quadrant. And I know you were on the station for a bit. But what were you doing on Bajor?"

"I was raised there."

Something inside her snapped. Her gaze drifted away from him and off into the distance. What were the chances? What were the chances that the one metamorph the Emissary found to help her was from Bajor, too? Maybe he hadn't been careless. Maybe something important was happening, something huge. Maybe Odo wasn't here by accident at all.

"Prophets, Odo," she whispered. "I knew it. We _are_ meant for something."

"Well, I wouldn't know about that. But I know I'm here to help you."

"Well, maybe that's the beginning of something else," Eeris said. " _Something_ —I don't know what—is happening between us. There's a _reason_ the Emissary called us together. I don't understand it yet, but by the Prophets, I'm going to."

"The Prophets are dead, Eeris!"

The words shot from his mouth so sharply they startled her. She countered his fire with her own. "Thanks to you!"

He recoiled as if he'd been slapped, sucking in a gasp that rattled in his throat. But before either of them could say another word, the ship rumbled beneath them, and Eeris was pressed hard against the floor. The pressure kept rising, far beyond what she was used to, and she cried out unthinkingly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Odo's balance fail. The uneven darkness of their cell became a monotone haze as the ship trembled around them. And then the force shifted, began to press Eeris against the wall rather than the floor, which was still pressing up against her feet. They were moving now—and fast.

Odo settled against the wall next to her with a sigh. "Well…we're moving."

She looked at him. His eyes were downcast, without a hint of optimism. "Who are these people, anyway?"

"Hmph!" His head rolled against the wall incredulously. "Cardassians."

"Wait," Eeris said. "You mean, the same people Miro was taking us to, before we detoured to Nebez?"

He nodded. "The very ones."

She laughed a little. The irony didn't escape her. "Well, who knows…maybe Miro'll go on without us, and he'll run into us anyway."

Odo shook his head. "He won't."

"What do you mean, he won't?" Eeris asked.

"He's not going to go on without us," Odo said. "He's a Dax. The current host may be angry with me, but he's still a Dax. Dax would never abandon a friend. That much, I'm certain of."

"But how's he going to find us?" Eeris asked. "How the heck is he going to track a Cardassian ship going who-knows-where? We don't even know if he knows they've taken us!"

"Oh, don't worry," Odo said. "Miro's no idiot. He'll figure it out, and I'm sure the _Challenger_ has some sort of tracking system. My only worry is that he won't survive the battle."

"And it's kinda his thing to do the most dangerous choice available," Eeris said with a sigh. "Well, isn't that terrific."

"Don't worry," Odo said again. "I know Dax. He won't trade his life for yours, at least not until he's sure you're safe." He paused. "At least, I hope not."

"Not very promising, Odo," Eeris said.

He sighed. "It's all I have."

Eeris groaned and tilted her head back against the wall. "I don't understand this! All I ever wanted was to escape Bajoran society! That's it! I didn't want anything more complicated, I just wanted to be done with my people! And here I am on a Cardassian ship headed off into the distant nowhere, separated from the only person in the galaxy who both knows his way around and cares enough for me to keep me around, and stuck with a mysterious Founder I'm not supposed to trust!"

"Eeris, someday you are going to have to learn that the whole galaxy doesn't bend to your every whim and desire." Odo shook his head. "In fact, it often runs contrary to the way we want things to go. And despite our careful planning…the end result is chaos."

"Don't I know," Eeris grumbled. "Nothing in my life has ever gone according to plan. I'm just sick of being out of control. I'm sick of fearing my own body. You're supposed to be helping me, you know."

Odo sighed. "I don't know how."

She turned on him, but found she couldn't sustain that kind of glare from where she was sitting. "You said you'd do your best!"

"I know. And I am. I'm working on it. I'm trying to think of a plan, of some way to…" He trailed off.

"To what?" she asked.

"I don't know. But I'm working on it. Don't worry, I'll try to have something figured out soon."

Eeris sighed. "Dang it, why does this have to be so hard? I just want my arms back!"

He expelled a breath that mirrored her own. "I know."

It was a sigh like any other, but there was something concealed within it. It was the first time Eeris had been able to sense any emotion hidden behind his cold exterior. Whatever it was, it interested her. It could provide one more clue to who he really was—and help her decide for herself if she could trust him.

She decided to try some fishing. "Is there something like that you want?"

He shrugged. "My old life, I suppose. I wish I had all the parts of myself in one place." She gave him a strange look, and he sighed again. "I'm not without attachment, Eeris. I try to pretend that I have no emotions, that I can't be hurt, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I thought I'd gain something by returning to my people nine hundred years ago. But the thing is, they're changing now—they're much more tolerant of humanoids than they once were—and still, I find myself an outsider. Still, they pick me apart and hold my innermost thoughts up to a magnifying glass as if they have no regard for who I am. And the truth is…they don't." His voice dropped low. "The Solids have shown me far more regard than my own people ever have."

"And you want to come back," Eeris said.

"To what?" He glanced at her and looked away again. "To a crumbling Federation? To a revolutionized Bajor? To a war-torn galaxy? Everything I ever left behind is gone! Nerys is—"

He froze.

"Nerys?" Eeris rounded on him. "Kira Nerys?"

He flinched. "Yes…"

"Tell me about her!" Eeris said. "What about her? What were you saying?"

"And why does she matter to you?" he returned. "She's nine hundred years in the past!"

"She was a _Figurehead_ ," Eeris growled through clenched teeth, "a woman I was taught to love, but learned to hate! All my life I've been trying to uncover the truth behind the legend! Now tell me, _what do you know about her_?"

"Prophets, Eeris, it would take days to tell you everything!" He shot to his feet and paced, his arms folded across his chest.

"From the look of things— _Founder_ —we have days!"

"Founder!" He whirled to face her. "You still think I'm a Founder? I'm not! I never was!"

" _Who is Kira Nerys?_ "

He gasped as if in physical pain. His emotions flashed across his face, for once not at all a blank slate. They were all there for her to see. They flashed by in such a jumble that Eeris couldn't make out where one ended and the next began. She couldn't even begin to read what he was thinking. But then they seemed to merge into one, one giant, fluctuating ocean of sadness. No, not just sadness, Eeris realized. Grief.

 _Grief_?

"You didn't just _know_ her," Eeris whispered. "You were close."

He stopped pacing, his back to her, and merely sighed.

Eeris watched Odo carefully as she spoke her next words. "You hear Miro talking about where she took Bajor…abandoning the Prophets…tossing the Federation off…and you…"

He forced in a shaky breath, his head tilted up to the ceiling. "The Prophets meant everything to her. They were her gods, they…she depended on them. We had many a late-night argument about it. She would so steadfastly defend beings who showed at best ambivalence toward her people…she had such belief, such _faith_ …she was everything I wished I could be. Here I was…the cynical constable who could never trust anyone enough to put faith in anything…how could I stand a chance at winning her affections?"

His words were dangerous, but Eeris couldn't tear herself away. Somehow, someway, she recognized the sentiment he was expressing. It was an emotion she had only rarely seen or experienced. She tried to remember when she'd felt it before, and could only come up with her father…before his work took him away from her. And her mother. But that had been years ago. Too long ago to know if it was really the same thing.

"You loved her," Eeris whispered.

He sighed. "She fought hard against the Federation in the beginning, you know. She'd fought for freedom all her life, she'd never known a free Bajor—and then the provisional government just up and invites the Federation in?" He shook his head. "In time, she softened toward them…she saw what they offered Bajor, and so did I. Oh, we were both vocal in the beginning, but in the end we were defending the Federation and all it stood for. Our best friends were Federation citizens, half the station's residents and personnel were from the Federation. We straddled two worlds, our own and the one we had grown into." He turned slightly. "She may not have always loved the Federation, but she had common sense. That she would toss them off at the height of Bajor's conflict…right after the Prophets died and left her behind…" His breath shook. "I can't imagine what could have happened to her."

"She left Bajor to rot," Eeris murmured.

"And _that_ is not the Kira I knew."

Eeris sighed and shook her head in wonder. She would never have guessed that so many oceans of emotion lay behind this metamorph's crusty exterior. Even more shocking was the idea that Kira Nerys had once been a believer in the Prophets. More than ever, Eeris wanted to learn what had changed. How had the first Figurehead gone astray?

"Miro's the only one who can tell us what happened to her, isn't he?" Eeris asked.

Odo sighed. "And he won't."

"We'll find out," Eeris said. She didn't know where the words came from, or if they could possibly be true, but she said them anyway. "Somehow, Odo, we'll figure it out."

He looked at her. Smiled. But his smile was cold, distant. Not relieved, not even amused. He shook his head.

Eeris opened her mouth to defend herself, but was interrupted by a rumble overhead. Suddenly, a door creaked loudly somewhere overhead at the opposite end of the room. Odo's glance shifted toward the sound and he nodded at the set of boot thumps that descended down the ramp. "Quiet. Let me deal with this."

"Gladly," Eeris said. She retreated to the back of the cell, slumped against the wall, and slid down to the floor.

The figure moved down the ramp and soon materialized out of the darkness. It was the same Cardassian commander who had captured them earlier. She walked toward their cell, her boots clicking loudly against the floor and echoing around the room. Odo, suddenly stiff and alert, met her at the iron bars that made up the front face of their cell.

"There you are," he said scathingly. "I was wondering when you would show up."

The commander smiled. "Were you?"

"We weren't finished, back on Nebez," Odo said. "I know that much."

"You're right," the commander said. "We weren't."

From behind her back, she pulled a small, flat, rectangular object with a bright screen. She held it up to face Odo. On it was the image of someone—a man. A familiar young man with bright red hair, piercing green eyes, a pattern of Trill spots down either side of his neck, and otherwise unremarkable features.

Eeris's heart thumped. The man in the image was younger, but there was no mistaking him.

"I know you are familiar with this man," the commander said, "so I'll make this quick. This is Miro Dax, aged twenty years, a citizen of the Federation, born on Trill, but not seen anywhere near his home planet in over two years. This is the most recent image taken of him, supplied by the Symbiosis Committee on Trill and taken before he left two years ago. Since then, he has been seen in various locations spread across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. He has been instrumental in several battles, but has never been recorded as choosing any one side over another. He has, however, been known to inflict serious wounds on his enemies, sometimes even leading to death. Analysts have found no way to predict who he might pick a fight with next. In short, he is not only the most neutral man in the quadrant, but one of the most dangerous." She lowered the screen and fixed Odo with a beady stare. "I need to capture him, Founder."

"You'll get no help from me," Odo said. "I don't know where he is."

"Oh, I know where he is," the commander said. "He's in hot pursuit of us, has been ever since we left orbit. I'd turn around right now and fire him down if I thought I had a chance. But it's a well-known fact that Dax doesn't give up without a fight, and he's been known to practically resurrect himself from the dead on occasion. Now, you are the first to make contact with him and even appear to have a slightly…personal…relationship with him. I need to know how to capture him before we reach Romulan space."

"And if I don't help you?" Odo asked.

"The Bajoran girl dies."

Odo's gaze flicked over to Eeris. Eeris, meanwhile, tried to calm her breathing. Odo wouldn't risk her death, would he? But then, Miro could be captured. Could she trust that he would get out of harm's way, even if Odo gambled for her life?

Yes. She could. Miro was a survivor. She had to believe that.

"There's one other thing," said the commander.

"Oh?" Odo asked, folding his arms.

"You may want to start thinking of dropping her off somewhere," the commander said. "Provided her life is spared, I would be willing to take her back to Bajor. The unfortunate fact is, Founder, the only place you'll be going after this is back to the Gamma Quadrant. Your people await you. And with Dax dead, there will be nowhere for the girl to go—except back where she belongs."

"That's very generous of you," Odo said. "But I'm not going back to the Gamma Quadrant. You should know, Commander, that it's very difficult to apprehend a Changeling."

"We have ways to ensure your cooperation," said the commander. "We do, after all, have access to the intelligence from both the Obsidian Order and the Tal'Shiar. Both were dissolved long ago, but the records remain, and as long as the Cardassian Union and Romulan Star Empire are allied, the intelligence is shared. I believe an encounter with them effectively incapacitated you…Odo."

Odo was silent. Eeris wondered what the commander was talking about.

"Something to think about," the commander said. "We can return you to your people shriveled as a sun-dried fruit, or you can go of your own accord. It's your choice, Odo."

Again, silence. Eeris stared at Odo, wishing she could read his body language.

"I appreciate the warning," Odo finally said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have some thinking to do."

The commander smirked. "I believe so, Odo. I'll leave you to it."

She favored Odo with one last smile. Then she retreated back into the darkness. Her boots clicked up the ramp and then faded out of earshot. All was silent, and Eeris felt sure she would have heard a penny drop. Once the commander was well out of sight, Odo's hands clutched the bars of the cell and he stood there, his back to Eeris, for a long moment. A shudder traveled through his form and escaped as a sigh.

"Odo?" Eeris asked.

"She means to torture me," Odo said. "I hoped records of the quantum stasis field would never be found. It appears I wasn't that lucky."

"What does it do, this…what did you call it?"

"A quantum stasis field," Odo said, tone heavy. "It prevents me from reverting to my natural state. You should enjoy it. If they use it on me soon, I'll be incapable of regenerating soon enough."

Eeris knew about Odo's regenerative cycle. He'd been forced to melt sometime on the way to Nebez, and she had avoided his overtly alien nature like the plague. He, likely sensing her aversion, had stayed well away from her for the full three hours it took for him to rest up.

She freely admitted that she wasn't comfortable seeing Odo in his natural state. But she didn't want him in _pain_. She would never wish that on anyone.

"How much time do you have?" she asked.

"Three days."

"Let's get out of here."


	9. Chapter 9

Miro closed his eyes. Within Dax, he could feel Jadzia watching with pride as her plan worked. Were he a simple pilot, and not the twentieth host of the elderly Dax symbiont, Miro might have feared for his life. He was, after all, hurtling at terrifying speeds through the atmosphere to the planet below. But he had—or rather, Jadzia had—calculated his trajectory perfectly, and he knew the _Challenger_ was not going to crash. He had a brief moment of sheer terror as jagged peaks rose up through the storm clouds below, but then released a breath of relief as the _Challenger_ soared high over them and then, in a shift of velocity that made her burnt and battered hull shudder and creak in protest, she was slingshotted away.

It was smooth sailing now. That was most certainly the most dangerous gravitational assist Miro had ever tried. He'd tried something like it on a flight simulation exam once, back in university on Trill, but his craft had only flown in the outer fringes of the atmosphere and he'd _still_ been marked down. Daring flight maneuvers were always bad in the Federation's books. They were too careful, too cautious, too afraid to take risks. That was the danger of a democratic administration—nobody ever got anything done. It had almost been the Federation's undoing.

That was one downfall Miro would happily stand by and witness. Almost as happily as he'd watch Viresa's Romulan Empire crumble to dust.

The way Miro saw it, the Maquis were right about the Federation. That little fringe group was still around. It hadn't risen to power even in the Federation's absence, but no one had ever bothered quelling it for good, so some of the space between Bajor and Cardassia and even a few other sectors near the Federation were Maquis-controlled. As had once been said over nine hundred years ago, the Federation was worse than the Borg. Both were a collective of alien races allied together to benefit one another and to better themselves, but at least the Borg did it through force, attacking and assimilating without compassion. The Federation, though…it was insidious. It made its allies think they wanted, _needed_ , to be part of the collective. It had expected Bajor to give up its autonomy when it one day joined. It was no surprise, Miro decided, that Bajor never had joined the Federation. Hell, if it had, it might not have fallen off the political map so completely. But it would still just be another barely-known planet stuck in border skirmishes against the Klingons. The Federation wasn't worth saving. It was just a shame it had become so marginalized, its downfall wouldn't send shockwaves worth Miro's attention. He would have liked to be there to see the collapse of the government he had once considered his own.

Now, Nebez was the closest thing he had to the traditional definition of home. Even Trill could hardly stir a sentimental memory for him anymore. It had been two years. The part of him that was Miro missed the house where he had grown up, his parents, his family, his friends and teachers and the countless people that had supported him as a kid, but he also knew that sentiment would only destroy him. It was all gone. He and Naral had escaped not a moment too soon.

Besides, Trill hadn't been home to him since he had been Ezri. Oh, he remembered young eighteen-year-old Miro, standing with the other students of the graduating class on the front steps of the university, holding his finance diploma across his chest, still glowing from the news that he would soon be joined. And to Dax, no less. One of the eldest and most accomplished of all the available symbionts. There were others like Dax who had lived long enough to see the wars against the Romulan and Klingon empires, to see the signing of treaties and the forging of alliances, to see the Dominion come and threaten to knock it all down like Jenga blocks. But Dax was the only symbiont who had literally watched the chain of events unfold. It was quite easy to watch the Federation fall, but who besides Dax had watched as Kira Nerys herself turned against all of Bajor's long-held values and sent Starfleet running for the hills? And any other symbiont might have taken Bajor's disappearance from the political map in stride, but who besides Dax had watched as Kira herself grew old and bitter and lost her center and led Bajor down its path of destruction?

Dax wasn't the only experienced symbiont. But it was the only one who had seen it all.

Which was why Miro thought of himself as having a duty to the rest of the galaxy. He was the only one who had seen it all happen firsthand. Even Odo, who had a background understanding of current events that most people with normal lifespans lacked, hadn't been around to see the final reckoning. That burden was Miro's alone to bear.

Home, for him, wasn't Trill. Not anymore. It wasn't Bajor. And he would watch the Federation crumble to dust before he declared his loyalty to it. Home, for him, was the _Challenger_. Home was being on the move. Home was wherever he was, wherever he managed to carve out his life. He took it with him, on the _Challenger_. And now, as Nebez slingshotted the _Challenger_ out into empty space, home was here, in the thick of the action.

Miro grinned. He couldn't help himself. He'd defied death once again, and only because the _Challenger_ was here at his side, its sturdy bulkheads insulating him, protecting him. It soon cleared the atmosphere and shot forward a few klicks, momentum carrying it just outside the danger of Nebez's gravitational field. Miro cut the engines—what was left of them—and let his trusty steed drift.

Now for the hard part. He was on the opposite side of the planet from his Cardassian quarry.

He did a quick check of the _Challenger's_ systems, inspecting her from bow to stern. She was still fizzling and crackling from the torpedo blow. Half of her systems were burnt out and useless, battle wounds scarring her sleek interior. He could only imagine what the hull looked like. Smoke was still in the air, but life support must have been at full capacity because it was clearing, slowly but surely. The dashboard was lit bright red like a Christmas tree on red alert, but it looked functional, if not undamaged. There were glass shards spread across its surface where its screen had cracked and splintered. Miro quickly snapped open a trash bag and scooped those loose shards in, wincing when the sharp glass dug into his hand. He ducked into the _Challenger's_ back hallway and into the bathroom, where he rinsed off the cut.

He returned to the cockpit. System diagnostics told him that thrusters were still at full power, but warp was down again. Again. _Why_ couldn't the _Challenger's_ warp drive ever just work properly? He'd been at Deep Space Nine for those very repairs when he'd run into Eeris. It was the one thing that never seemed to work right. Well…not the _one_ thing, he admitted. The countdown to life support failure was broken, as was the fuel gauge (he couldn't sell the _Challenger_ , ever, no one else would be able to operate her for more than a day), and even the airlock didn't work properly now and then. But why _warp_? The galaxy was big, and it was hard enough to be everywhere at once as it was—why did _warp_ always have to malfunction?

Speaking of warp…he had a ship to follow. But not just yet. He needed to see what he was up against. Miro performed a quick scan with his external sensors, glad that they hadn't been stripped clean off the _Challenger's_ hull in that daredevil move around Nebez. It was as he'd expected—there were no other ships around. Of course not. They had all seen Miro plunge to his death in Nebez's atmosphere. They wouldn't think to check the other side of the planet.

The Cardassian ship, on the other hand—the one holding Eeris and Odo—looked to have already gone to warp.

Miro slammed his fist on the dashboard, cursing. "Come on, girl! Don't let me down here! We can't lose track of them!"

First things first: he had to fix the warp drive. If he couldn't coax warp out of the _Challenger_ , he'd be a sitting duck out here beyond Nebez and he certainly wouldn't be able to intercept Viresa's plans. He ducked underneath the dashboard, hissing when a cloud of smoke blew out in his face. Wrong access panel, then. He slid a few inches to his right and tried another. That one stuck a little, but it opened. Inside, the wires were burnt and frayed, but the damage didn't look nearly as bad as he'd expected it to be. Maybe warp wasn't such a far-off dream. Miro crawled back out, grabbed a set of tools from his engine room in back, and got to work.

In under five minutes, he had warp working again, but nothing else. The _Challenger's_ other systems would have to wait till later. Miro reclaimed the pilot's seat and woke her up, smiling when she came to life around him. He revved up her engines and took comfort in their familiar hum. And then he kicked her up to warp and took off after the ion trail his quarry had left behind.

A few minutes of empty space later, the Cardassian ship reappeared on his scanners. With a devilish grin, Miro matched its speed. He kept one hand on the joystick and the other skimming constantly over the controls, checking for malfunctions and making sure the _Challenger_ remained steady beneath him. He could use autopilot, but it was so much more satisfying to stick to manual and fly her himself. Besides, this way he'd notice any changes in her flight faster if something went wrong. It was his way of staying occupied, keeping himself one step away from boredom, and looking after his girl at the same time. And plus, he was good at it. His favorite studies as a young teen had been finance and economics and that knowledge had served him well, but his specialty was piloting. He sometimes suspected, what with all the tough scrapes he'd been through, that he was one of the best and most experienced pilots in the quadrant.

Several minutes later, it occurred to Miro to consult the _Challenger's_ star map and figure out where he and his quarry were headed. He called up the map on one of his idle monitors and traced the path of the other ship, estimating its trajectory. His eyes scanned across the map—

—and then a lead weight dropped hard in his stomach. They were headed straight for Bajoran space.

Bajoran space? Seriously? He was tempted to ask Viresa if she'd known about the incident in the valley with Kira Nerys all this time, and was deliberately targeting his weaknesses. He wouldn't put it past her.

Well. He was headed for Bajoran space now. There was no sense in freaking out about it. He could hold back the exhibits along memory lane—he'd done well enough until now. Just because he was headed straight for Bajor, with no clue where in the system he'd end up and no guarantee he'd just find himself safe in the relative sanctuary that was Deep Space Nine, didn't mean he had to spiral into some kind of mental breakdown over it. He took the opportunity to scold Ezri's voice silent. He didn't need her whining right now.

Why was he doing this again? Was it _worth_ a trip down memory lane? Miro closed his eyes, thought of Eeris, the girl he had inexplicably—and rather inadvisably—tethered himself to, in mind and heart. She was a Kira, and fate did she look like a young resurrection of Nerys. No, Miro decided. If he let Ezri's memories resurface, not only did he not know what it would do to his own mind, but he wasn't sure if it would taint his affection for Eeris. No, he couldn't allow that to happen.

He would trust Odo to take care of the girl. They had their devotion to her in common, even if Miro didn't trust Odo as a person. He _could_ leave them alone together. He _would_ , because Eeris needed to get used to not having Miro around anymore. He couldn't stay tethered to her forever. As long as he cared for her, she was a liability.

Quickly, Miro inputted a course for Romulan space. If his Cardassian quarry wasn't going to lead him straight behind the scenes, he would just have to go himself.

The journey took almost eight daylight cycles, but only because he had to skirt around the Federation to reach the Romulan Star Empire. Miro wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near Starfleet's jurisdiction. He was still wanted for a few of the perhaps less than noble things he had done in order to get off Trill in the first place, and he wasn't about to be dragged back to serve out a sentence. He wondered if Naral had ever been caught. Doubtful. As far as he knew, she didn't even have a way to get off Lityzne. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, but shrugged it away. He hadn't thought about Naral in over a year and he wasn't about to start now.

Even when he arrived on the edge of the Romulan Empire and started skirting along the border, watching the little blip on his star map that was the _Challenger_ sneak along the outer fringes of Romulan space, Miro realized he didn't have a plan. It would be absolutely senseless, even more so than his usual, to dive in, announce his presence, and demand to speak to Viresa. That wouldn't go over well. He reminded himself that he couldn't trust the people here. The Romulans were safe in the assurance that Viresa would conquer any territory they could possibly want, and any Cardassians he might happen across would be so desperate for a revival of their own union as to be well under Viresa's thumb. So he continued sneaking along the border, keeping his head down, power at minimum so as not to attract attention. He would buy himself time to think.

And that was when he saw it. The little blip on his scanners.

It wasn't a ship. Miro knew what a ship looked like, even from a distance. The _Challenger's_ computer seemed reluctant to even attempt an analysis. Miro decided he needed to get closer. Chances were this was nothing, but his instincts told him something was wrong, and they had never failed him before. He revved the _Challenger's_ engines up a bit, still careful not to attract more attention than was strictly necessary. Viresa knew his ship, and so did every ranking Romulan. He was too much of a thorn in the Romulans' side to ever fall off their radar.

The _Challenger's_ computer started bleeping warnings at him, almost like a skittish animal. Almost as if whatever this _thing_ was up ahead, it had the capacity to scare even a ship.

Then the scanners did something weird. The closer Miro got, an image of the thing was forming on one of the dashboard's idle screens. It was showing a literal hole in subspace. No. More detail resolved. It wasn't just a subspace sinkhole—it had the verteron membrane, the ring singularity, the FTL pipline, all the most distinctive features of a wormhole. The subspace ripples were barely there, only beginning to bulge outward into the proper shape, but the pattern was too _perfect_ to be an accident.

Another wormhole?

Near _Romulan_ space?

Miro blinked, sitting back in his chair. Now _that_ was quite a turn-up. Not something he'd expected in a million years. But then, even he, for all his experience and knowledge of history, could not claim to predict the future.

The _Challenger_ was still closing in on the wormhole. Closer…closer…and as it approached, the wormhole's features became more resolved, more pronounced, and the conclusion was inevitable.

This was no natural phenomenon.

It was too perfect. Too stable. Miro performed check after check, his computer bleeping at him in annoyance, but there was no sign of instabilities or subspace tremors or resonance waves or…anything. The wormhole was a masterpiece. Perfectly symmetrical in every way, each part of its interior conforming properly to all the right equations. The astrophysicist in Dax grew suspicious. If this wormhole was artificially created, then by whom?

And then Miro's heart lodged in his throat. The truth hit him so hard it tore the wind from him. He sat back in his chair, panting, trying to catch his breath. No. Viresa would not be that careless. Would she?

He had no choice now. He had to talk to her. He didn't want to prepare for the worst until he knew for sure.

Jaw stiffening in grim determination, Miro plotted a course for the wormhole. He kept the _Challenger_ on semi-autopilot, just autonomous enough that she would fly herself, but just dependent enough that he could take care of her if something went wrong. Because something was _bound_ to go wrong. There could only be two reasons why he hadn't been caught in Romulan space and dragged in yet: either he was lucky, or the Romulans believed he'd head right in the direction they wanted him to go. The latter reason was ten times more likely. Viresa had to know he'd be on the front lines for _this_ plot of hers, and this time, he wouldn't be just a thorn in her side or a wasp for her to swat. He would be an honest-to-fate _menace_.

The next four days passed in silence. There was no sign of approaching ships, either Romulan or Cardassian. Miro knew without a doubt that they trusted him to walk right into his own trap. And the worst part of it all was, they were very, very right. He couldn't risk damaging the _Challenger_ further, which was what would happen if he provoked them by running away. And besides, he was Dax. He was willing to risk his life to uncover this plot, especially if it meant the safety of the galaxy.

Finally, Miro drew within visual range of the wormhole. The anomaly itself was invisible, reminding Miro of the way the Bajoran wormhole had behaved before it was closed forever, but there was something near it—something man-made. Miro drew closer. It was a space station. A very Romulan space station, a sleek, spindly thing with an elegant array of antennae and various other instruments that looked like the legs of a spider, curling like sinister claws around the dark space within them. It appeared to have few habitable decks; all of the sections designed for humanoid use were clustered close around the center of the core. Miro's brows drew in suspicion. Romulans weren't supposed to build without Cardassian influence—it was set in stone in the treaty. Of course, it was no surprise that Viresa had ignored the terms, presuming them to apply only to her allies and not herself, but it was still a bad sign. She had something to hide, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Viresa was creating her own wormhole. But the Cardassians didn't know about it. Or…they probably knew _something_ about it, or at least were aware of some sense of urgency. It explained their appearance on Nebez—they had been desperate enough for Changelings to set foot on that chaotic world. But they didn't know the whole of Viresa's plans. Why else would she be building space stations out here without the support of her allies, as required by the treaty? That meant that whatever she had planned, it wasn't for the Cardassians' benefit, or _anyone's_ benefit, for that matter. Viresa was working alone. There was even a high chance, Miro suspected, that not many of her own people knew her plans. Even her own officers were Romulans themselves, victims of an ingrained sense of suspicion and distrust, and might betray her if they learned her plans too soon.

The Cardassians, however annoying and useless under Viresa's power, were victims same as everyone else in the galaxy who Viresa's plans would hurt. Which meant Miro had to find a way to help them. Dismantling Viresa's power was the most obvious course of action, but was more dangerous than it sounded. Miro knew firsthand the power and danger of the sort of chain reaction Viresa's fall would cause. It would wreak havoc on the galaxy just as had the Prophets' death. And besides, it was like trying to kill cancer when it had already killed its victim. There needed to be a backup, some power for the galaxy to fall back on, before Viresa tumbled from her throne.

Miro frowned in thought. Who could that possibly be? Certainly not the Federation—a repeat of the Borg threat, however disguised, would never be a good idea. The Klingons were predictable and could be trusted to lead, but were too quick to violence to head the next era. And Miro doubted they would step up to the plate, regardless. The Ferengi would turn the galaxy into one huge market system and force women to walk around naked. They had changed a bit in the intervening years following the Dominion War, but not much. Every other power was marginalized but still too well known for their respective reputations to be taken seriously. But one thing was for sure: the galaxy needed a new leader, and it needed one _soon_. Viresa was too dangerous to be left in charge. Miro's vendetta against her would need to come to a head.

He would debate the merits of the possible leading powers another time. Miro tightened his grip on the _Challenger's_ joystick and swung her closer into the station. This was going to be his most crucial battle yet—he had to learn Viresa's plans, even if he nearly got himself killed doing so. He had just dropped in closer to the wormhole's space station when a slight tremor ran through the _Challenger's_ body, and he realized what had just happened. The computer confirmed his fears. A tractor beam had locked him in place and was slowly reeling him in.

It appeared whatever choice he'd had left had been made for him.


	10. Chapter 10

Odo tried to think of what Miro would do in his situation.

The fact was, Odo didn't want to be subjected to the quantum stasis field any more than he wanted to return to his people. And it wasn't just that. He was responsible for Eeris now, and above all, he could not let harm come to her. It was the least he could do, after failing to save Nerys's gods from his people's weapon. And even if he _hadn't_ found her, he wouldn't want to return to the Gamma Quadrant. He'd barely spent a week in the Alpha Quadrant. Spending seventy years on the journey home would invalidate his last seventy-year journey as a waste of time.

There was one tiny, dangling thread of hope. The Cardassian commander had been in earlier to inform him of their course for Bajor. Whether her word could be trusted was anyone's guess, but if they _were_ en route to Bajor, Odo could leave Eeris safely among her people and then go back to the Gamma Quadrant of his own free will. Maybe that was what Miro would do—play along with his enemy's plans so that he could find their root motivation. It was a strategy Odo had employed often in his work as chief of security. He remembered when Commander Worf had first transferred on board, and had ended up (ironically enough) interfering with Odo's investigation in his pursuit of order on the station. Odo had been about to infiltrate the ranks of a smuggling ring as the bag in which the money was carried, but that bad-tempered Klingon with his surprisingly relatable desire for order had barged in on the scene to make the arrest instead.

Whatever choice he made, Odo knew, these people had the means to force his cooperation. He could escape with Eeris, or he could choose whether or not to be subjected to the quantum stasis field—which honestly wasn't much of a choice. And if he chose to cooperate, thus leading him straight behind the lines, he still wouldn't have a way to get out and dismantle the whole scheme. The safest choice was to escape with Eeris. But that plan wouldn't necessarily succeed.

Odo glanced over at Eeris, huddling alone in the back of their cell. The _only_ choice was to escape with Eeris. It was the only way he could ensure her safety as well as his own.

"Tell me more about Kira Nerys," Eeris said.

Odo chuckled. "Don't you think that's enough for one day?"

In the days since the commander had come to inform Odo of his options, they had passed the time talking about Nerys. Odo had been reluctant at first—Eeris was bigoted enough that he didn't particularly want to open up to her—but he'd found that the more she understood him and his love for the first Figurehead of Bajor, the more she softened toward him and didn't seem quite as afraid of his alien nature. Ever since he had begun telling her about the time he and Nerys had first met, over the Vaatrik case, when he was still a young shapeshifter who cowered in the face of revulsion and disgust, he had stopped seeing that same look in Eeris's eyes. She saw beyond his unfinished face now. It shouldn't have taken effort on his part to get her there, but at least she had come this far.

And perhaps, Odo thought, if he could warm her up to his metamorphic abilities, she would one day warm up to her own.

"I can never get enough of Kira Nerys for one day," Eeris said. "The more you talk about her, the more I realize I didn't know her at all."

"Well," Odo allowed, "few people truly knew her."

"Just you," Eeris said.

"And Dax. They were close friends."

" _Ah_ ," Eeris nodded. "Now I see."

"Now you see what?"

"Why Miro refuses to talk about her. She must have hurt him when she changed."

"I imagine so," Odo agreed. "Though I can't imagine how."

"You said you did some research on the way here," Eeris said. "You didn't find out anything interesting? Anything that Miro's not saying?"

Odo stared out into space, remembering the text that had scrolled across the _Rintoqua's_ screen. "She led an assault of some sort, took over Bajor. Became the Figurehead. Bajor falls off the political map at that point. There's nothing else to find."

"She led an assault," Eeris repeated. "Maybe Miro disagreed with what she was doing."

"Possibly," Odo said, "but for the record, it would have been Ezri at the time."

"Who?"

"Ezri. Dax's ninth host. She would still have been alive when Nerys did…whatever she did."

Eeris nodded slowly. "Okay. Ezri was the counselor, right? Miro told me a little about her when I first met him, but not much. She disagreed with whatever Kira Nerys was doing, and…"

"That's where my reasoning falls short," Odo admitted. "I can't picture the woman I loved doing anything that would hurt Miro enough not to want to talk about her nine hundred years afterward. She was steadfastly loyal, protected her people and her friends above all else."

"You did say she believed in the Prophets," Eeris added. "Strange as that sounds, given what I know about her disbanding the old religious orders. The Prophets could have told her to…"

"To do what?" Odo asked. "Betray her people? That was never in the cards. It seems to me Nerys would have a crisis in her faith before she would turn on her friends."

Eeris shrugged. "Well, the Emissary got me to betray _my_ people…"

"Who you already wanted nothing to do with," Odo reminded her. "I…I don't know what could have happened. It seems impossible that things on Bajor could have spiraled out of control the way they have. A Figurehead…a Societal Order…a wall no one crosses…all those things you told me…" He began to pace in thought. "If it all really was a chain reaction caused by Nerys's choices, like Miro told us, this seems like some kind of alternate reality—almost as if we're in the mirror universe instead."

"The mirror universe?" Eeris asked.

Odo waved a hand in dismissal. "It's not important. Just a parallel universe the crew of Deep Space Nine seemed to end up in often, when there were mishaps with the wormhole. Come to think of it…with the wormhole closed, this could all…" He shook his head. "No, never mind. That's ridiculous. Just because the Nerys of this universe acted more like the Intendant after I left doesn't mean we're all not still in the right universe."

"Wait," Eeris said. "Are you saying we could be in a _parallel_ universe? Like, maybe we got sent there when the wormhole closed?"

"It does line up…Nerys only made the choices she made _after_ my people closed the wormhole…" Odo paused and shook his head. "No, if we were in an alternate universe right now, you would think Miro would have said something, wouldn't he?"

"You would think so," Eeris said, but she didn't sound like she believed it.

Odo sighed and settled down next to her. "Regardless, it doesn't matter. Even if we _were_ in the wrong universe, there's no way we could get back, is there? The wormhole is gone."

Eeris sighed. "If we were stuck in the wrong universe, would you _want_ to get back?"

Odo considered. "I suppose I would. The politics of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants were always less…convoluted in our own universe. I suppose it all made sense from their standpoint, but the people there were all alternate, darker versions of the people here. Nerys, the most loyal, determined, loving Bajoran I ever knew, became a selfish, indulgent dictator over there. Garak, someone I respected, if not trusted, was suddenly someone I could trust to follow through on his word, but not respect. Even…even Captain Sisko. In our universe, he's a Starfleet officer-turned-Prophet, one of the two people I once respected most of all. There, he was a vagabond criminal in search of adventure."

"Sounds like Miro," Eeris laughed.

Odo chuckled. "I wonder what our Miro would be like in the mirror universe. Who knows—maybe he'd _be_ the Figurehead."

With that, Eeris laughed out loud. Odo smiled a little. Despite the desperation of their situation, he was glad he could make her smile. Especially since she'd been avoiding him out of sheer revulsion when they'd begun this trip.

"You know," Eeris said, quelling her chuckles, "I can almost see it. He seems to see himself as the galaxy's fulcrum. He wants to be everywhere at once, fixing everything at once. Maybe in another universe, he'd be doing that on Bajor—acting as counselor to the people."

Odo smiled. "Doesn't seem quite like his style."

"Well, in tense situations, sometimes we do things that aren't our style."

"What about running from your future on Bajor?" Odo asked, looking in her direction. "Was that your style?"

Eeris sighed and leaned against him exhaustedly. "I'm not even sure what my style is anymore. I don't know what to do, Odo. I thought I'd figure things out when I got away from Bajor. But I'm away from Bajor, and I still haven't figured anything out. I keep picturing my parents, my father, the people I let down in order to get away, the monk in the hills, the vedek in the cottage…and my people, Odo. My backwards people…"

She sniffled a little, the sound muffled when she wiped her shoulder stump across her eyes.

Odo leaned his head against the wall and let out another, heavier sigh. Eeris snuggled against him. He snaked his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. It was the least he could offer. She burrowed into his embrace like a desert traveler seeking shelter. Odo softened his form a little to add to her comfort, letting her body settle into the slight indentation he made.

"Odo," she said, "the Emissary brought you to me. I know you can help me. I don't know how, but I know you can."

"I can't imagine Sisko's reasoning," Odo replied.

Eeris sighed. "Who knows, maybe I'm not meant to grow my arms back, and we're together for an entirely different reason. But I'm willing to bet you're here to fix my arms. You're a metamorph, after all."

That was one conversation Odo had never in his life been adequately be prepared for. He decided to redirect the subject, just a little.

"Do you know what I don't understand?" he asked.

"What?"

"I told you how steadfastly Nerys held to her faith. I didn't share it myself, but at least I understood it. When the Bajorans needed something to believe in, the Prophets sent their orbs, and they've proven themselves powerful enough to act like gods. But now…now, Eeris, the Prophets are gone, thanks to me and the rest of my people, and still your faith is unshakable."

"It's not really the Prophets that I believe in," Eeris said. "I never got a chance to do that. They were dead before I had a chance to know them. It's just the Emissary, for me. He hasn't betrayed me yet. He's been guiding me, and he's still guiding me. And I sure hope that even while we're stuck on this ship, he's guiding us right now."

Odo chuckled dryly. "The man you call the Emissary was once my superior officer."

"Captain Sisko, you mean."

"That's right," Odo nodded. "Captain Sisko." The memory of how much the captain's attitude toward the Bajoran faith had changed made him chuckle again. "He used to avoid association with the Bajoran faith as if his life depended on it. To think he'd one day be…"

Odo stopped mid-sentence. The holding cell was swimming before his eyes. He instinctively pulled Eeris more tightly against him. The motion stopped only a second later, but something felt wrong, as if there was another presence in the room that didn't belong. Odo peered shrewdly around the cell and gasped in surprise. There, standing just inside the cell bars, was Captain Sisko.

"Captain!" Odo exclaimed.

"Emissary?" Eeris asked in awe.

Odo swiveled to look at her, confused. That couldn't be right. Even if she was part of his…hallucination, or whatever the captain wanted to call it, she shouldn't actually be aware of herself, should she be?

"Constable," Sisko greeted with a nod. "Eeris."

"I can't believe it," Eeris whispered. "I never thought you'd…"

"I'm afraid I didn't come here to visit," Sisko said. "I need to ask something of you—of both of you."

"The last request you made of me sent me reeling seventy years away from my home," Odo said. "This had better be good."

Sisko held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Please, Constable. Hear me out."

"Why should I?" Odo growled.

"Have you forgotten?" Sisko held his hands out to his sides and grinned. "I'm a Prophet. I can help you."

Odo scowled. "If you're really a Prophet, go back in time and get us off this Cardassian ship."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Sisko said. "It is no accident that you're here."

"What, you're telling me _you_ stuck us here? What a successful plan. Eeris will be dropped right back on Bajor and I'll be sent seventy years back the way I came. It's not at _all_ counterproductive, Captain. I always thought the Prophets' methods were roundabout and vague, but I've never before known them to be downright _idiotic_!"

Sisko smiled. "Patience, Constable. Everything is going according to plan…for the moment."

" _For the moment_ ," Odo said. "How reassuring."

"Constable," Sisko said. "Eeris must be dropped off at Deep Space Nine, and I will see to it that your captors don't alter their plans. But you must not escape with her."

"That's ridiculous," Odo said. "It's the only way to ensure her safety. I thought you _wanted_ me here to protect her, Captain. I traveled seventy years on your word! Well, now I'm here, and you better not start giving me contradictory advice!"

"She will be safe," Sisko said.

"How can you know that?"

Sisko raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, alright," Odo said. "You're a Prophet and you can see the future. I get it. But you can't honestly expect me to go along with it."

"I do," Sisko said. "And you will. All attempts of yours to escape will be thwarted."

"And I suppose _you're_ going to thwart them."

"That's right."

"Excuse me for remaining skeptical, Captain, but I came here to watch out for Eeris. You can't just ask me to leave her at the mercy of Cardassians."

"I told you, Constable," Sisko said, "she will be safe."

Odo glared at him.

"Now." Sisko looked Odo in the eye. "I don't want the Cardassians to torture you any more than you do, Constable. Which is why I advise that you go with them of your own free will."

"You want me to _cooperate_. With _Cardassians_. Have you forgotten my history with them, Captain?"

"No," Sisko said, "but I expect you to move past it. The Cardassians are not your enemy. There is a larger force for you to worry about, and it will become apparent soon. I promise."

"And then I suppose you're going to want me to blindly follow your orders and oppose this 'force' of yours."

"Constable," Sisko said, "do yourself a favor and think of me as the man you once knew me as. Not the Emissary, or a Prophet. I may have the powers of a Prophet, and I may be able to see events before they occur, but that doesn't change who I am. I'm still Benjamin Sisko, and that will never change."

Odo sighed. He knew what the captain was doing. He wanted Odo to respect his requests on the basis that Odo had always respected _him_. What he didn't seem to understand was how hard that was, when neither of them had been involved in the same chain of command for nine hundred years and one of them was a Prophet, while the other was a skeptic.

"Odo," Eeris whispered, nudging him. "Just go with it."

But he would try. For Eeris's sake. Just as he would try if Nerys were to ask him the same thing.

"Fine," Odo said. "But if she gets hurt, I want it clear, Captain—I'll blame you."

"That's all I ask," Sisko said. "I need you to trust me, Constable."

Trust the man who was being as cryptic as any Prophet Odo had ever heard of? The man who was ordering Odo around like he was still Odo's superior officer?

That was it, Odo realized. With Miro still angry with him and all their old friends nine hundred years dead, Sisko was Odo's only remaining friend. And he wanted Odo to remember that. He wanted Odo to think of him not as a Prophet, but of the only piece of his old life he had left.

Besides, Odo could understand the captain, in a way. They had both had duties to their higher callings nine hundred years ago, and they had both joined races who behaved as gods. They had that and their lives on Deep Space Nine in common. And now, they had both lived too long to belong anywhere in particular in the Alpha Quadrant. The people they had been loyal to were gone.

Sisko was watching him patiently. Odo realized he'd been thinking, silent, for too long.

"Alright, Captain," Odo said. "I'll trust you. One last time."

"Please," Sisko said, "I'm no captain anymore. You can call me Benjamin."

"Hmph," Odo said. "You know you'll always be a captain to me."

Sisko smiled. "Does that mean you'll do as I request?"

"For the moment," Odo allowed grudgingly.

"Good." Sisko turned to Eeris. "Tread carefully, Kira Eeris. Things are not as they seem."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Odo held back a chuckle at the sound of Eeris swearing before her Emissary. As alike as she and Nerys were, their similarities ended there. Nerys's faith had been much more…blind.

"Don't worry," Sisko said. "Everything will become clear…soon. I suppose all I can say is…good luck." Before Odo could retort, he added, "I know, Constable, but all the same."

The cargo bay swam again, giving Odo a strange, remembered feeling of vertigo. By the time the motion had stopped again, Sisko had disappeared.

"Well," Odo said, "that was interesting, if frustrating."

The sound of footsteps down the ramp into the cargo bay punctuated his words. The commander approached, this time with two male soldiers at her side.

"We have arrived at Deep Space Nine," the commander said. "I await your decision, Odo."

Eeris looked up at Odo, pleading.

Odo sighed. It was now or never. They could try to escape, but it was more likely they'd be stopped. Especially after Sisko had assured him that all efforts to escape would be thwarted. If Odo trusted anyone's word, it was Sisko's. Even if he didn't like Sisko's current plan.

His only choice was between the quantum stasis field and cooperation. It wasn't a choice.

"I suppose I'll cooperate," Odo said. "But you have to promise me Eeris will get to Deep Space Nine in one piece."

"She will be monitored," the commander said. "I will ensure that a transport arrives for her shortly."

Odo peered at the commander. "Why would you do that? You don't have any stake in her wellbeing."

Eeris nudged him. "Let it be," she whispered. "The Emissary's protecting me."

Odo glanced at her. He didn't want to believe that, didn't want to believe anything concerning the Prophets, but this was Captain Benjamin Sisko they were talking about. Maybe he was manipulating the commander's mind.

"Well," Odo said, turning back to the commander, "I don't suppose I need to worry about her safety."

The commander smiled and pressed something on her wrist. Before Odo could say another word, Eeris disappeared in a vortex of transporter energy. Odo whirled and reached out for her, just as he had in his vision before he had decided to travel to the Alpha Quadrant, to no avail. She was gone.

"I appreciate your cooperation," the commander said. "Remember, just be good for us, and there will be no need to use more…unpleasant…measures."

Without another word, the commander turned on her heel and walked back up the ramp. Her men followed her. Odo wondered of those soldiers had been there to subdue him if necessary, and if so, if they were Sisko's doing. Odo wouldn't put it past the man who called himself the Emissary. He probably had ways to ensure Odo's cooperation just as the Cardassian commander did. But Odo had to admit he trusted Sisko's methods to be far less painful than any Cardassian's.

He would trust the Emissary. For now.


	11. Chapter 11

A-ha! Managed to shrink this down to 11 chapters, same as _Figurehead_!  
*pats self on the back*  
I'll try to keep everything in the future down to 10-11 chapters. Thanks, as always, for reading!

* * *

There was no face in this torn and imploding galaxy that Miro knew better than that of the Romulan Empress Viresa. She was on every newsfeed, a symbol of both the longest-lasting alliance ever formed and the greatest treachery ever committed. She was the face of Romulus itself. Tall and regal, she was like very other Romulan he'd ever known, right down to that dark look of treachery in her eyes.

Viresa was the sort of woman who would never hesitate to betray her own allies if it meant achieving a greater goal for herself. Soon after the Klingons had sent the Federation into retreat, the Kressari had come crying to her for help, and she'd supported them until the Tzenkethi had come knocking at their doorstep. And then she'd shucked them off her shoulder like so many dirty rags and had moved on to more self-beneficial battles. But as duplicitous as Viresa was, Miro had never thought her stupid. She had, after all, managed to stay afloat this long and hold the Cardassians under her thumb, and that took manipulation, which took brainpower. The universe had yet to deliver her a fatal blow.

Miro intended to change that trend. He had never explicitly gone after her in the past. He'd fought her in one battle or another, but never truly challenged her grip on the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. That was partly because he knew a one-man crusade against the most powerful empress this side of the closed wormhole was a death wish, and partly because as long as she was around, he never needed to fear being useless. There would always be something to save the galaxy from. That needed to change.

He would need help.

Of course, like any other Romulan, Viresa was always suspicious and always on the defensive. Her lack of experience with the tides of history made her a bad gambler when she took a risk and a naïve soldier. She was the only Romulan Miro knew who tended to stay on the front lines, instead of in retreat beyond her own borders. Although the Romulan wormhole, as he was beginning to call it, wasn't actually in Romulan space, it was on the far side of her empire and isolated from all the activity in known space. Miro had a feeling he knew why that was. He just needed her to confirm it.

"Miro Dax," Viresa said. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Oh, I doubt I'm that pleasant a sight," Miro said.

Viresa stepped up into his personal space, the better to stare down her nose at him. "I expected you to be dead."

"Oh, really?" Miro said. "You underestimate me."

"Not for long," Viresa said.

"You're a little off your beaten path," Miro said. "Overseeing construction of a whole new wormhole? You've got a lot of nerve, Viresa."

"And you are under the mistaken impression that you are invulnerable," Viresa said. "It appears your vagabond nature has left you blind to your own pride."

"I don't get called out on it very often," Miro growled. "Now, what's the deal dragging me in here? I didn't do anything wrong, not this time."

"Quite the contrary, Dax, you have made a most grievous mistake," Viresa said. "But I don't suppose you're prepared to admit that."

"You'll have to tell me what the hell I did before I admit to anything."

Viresa cocked her head in what a Romulan might consider amusement and gestured down the long, curving hall to her left. "Walk with me?"

The corridor disappeared into darkness some fifty feet off as it curved leftward around the circumference of the habitable decks of the station. It was entirely Romulan in design—minimal, sparse, Spartan furnishings. This was Viresa's domain. As cocky as Miro liked to be around her, he was well aware that he was on the wrong turf, and one wrong move could get him killed. Viresa didn't think him dangerous enough to bother, but if he gave her a reason while he was in her territory, she would never hesitate.

And he needed to keep her talking.

"Do I have a choice?" he replied.

The corner of Viresa's mouth twitched. "You can be foolish, but you're hardly unintelligent. Follow me."

She moved off down the corridor, her heels clicking sharply against the polished metal. Miro kept stride with her. The hallway lights clicked on, section by section, as they walked along. Brisk, efficient, flawless. So typical of the Romulans, and especially Viresa.

"Dax, I've recently been informed of an amber stone that has come into your possession."

Miro resisted the temptation to check for its presence in his pants pocket. He knew it was still there. He hadn't left it on the _Challenger_ because she could be easily searched, and she didn't have a mind of her own to plot her way out of trouble. Now, he felt a little glimmer of satisfaction. Viresa had shown her cards without even knowing it. The Cardassians could have easily lied about their motivations to put them on Viresa's head, but she had just confirmed her interest in the amber. Now, to get her to confirm a bit more.

"I don't know anything about an amber stone," Miro said.

"You're lying."

"I'm not—"

"You're _lying_!"

Miro saw the blow coming. He caught her wrist in one hand before she could backhand him across the face. Blind hatred boiled up within him as his fingers tightened sharply around her skin. She was the one responsible for the loss of so many lives, for the aimless floundering of so many alien governments. She gave and took at will, greedily sucking the life out of the galaxy. He could see it coming, could see the galaxy shriveling into a shrunken, black lump before her iron hand. His resolved strengthened and he jerked her toward him, peered into those frozen-cold glaciers that were her eyes. She hadn't just targeted the galaxy this time. She'd targeted Eeris and Odo. She'd used her allies again to her advantage and in doing so had put his companions in danger.

His arm tensed. It would take very little effort to flip her arm backwards, to pin her against the wall, to demand she answer for her crimes. But as he stared into those dark, icy depths, something else caught his eye. Something dark and burning. A monster.

His own reflection.

 _What did I tell you, Miro?_ Jadzia whispered in his mind. _If you don't go back and face Bajor soon, you're going to twist yourself into a devil of the likes this galaxy has never seen._

For once, he listened to her. His anger melted back into mere fear. He was there, all over again—the shouts, the screams, the merciless _pop_ of so many guns, and Kira's eyes, cold and remorseless—

He buried Ezri's memory, clenching his fist against the sudden trembling that had beset his hand, closed his eyes, and released Viresa's wrist.

And then her fingers clamped around his throat.

"It would take me very little effort to send you back to Trill for disorderly conduct," she hissed.

"Do it!" Miro choked. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, his lungs struggling for air, as he grappled at her iron wrist. "Go ahead!"

"Such a daredevil you are." Viresa shook her head. "Too much so for your own good, I should think." Her fingers tightened, sealing him off from the air. Miro gaped like a fish out of water. "You know, of course, what your people will do to you upon your return? You'll serve years. And you'll be trapped behind bars, helpless to stop me as you watch the galaxy fall under my rule."

 _Then let them,_ Miro thought, unable to utter a word. There was no rule he couldn't bend, no law of common sense he couldn't escape. He'd escaped home once before. He could do it again. If that was all Viresa intended to do to him, it was a measly threat. It would be a setback to be sure—when he'd left, he'd vowed never to set foot on Trill again—but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Hell, he'd handled nine hundred years of Ezri's memories practically choking him in the recesses of his mind. Being sent back home would be—

Her hand unexpectedly released him and he dropped to the floor. It was some time before he could catch his breath, his head spinning as he gulped desperate lungfuls. Before he could fully recover, Viresa's boot slammed into his ribs, knocking the wind from him. Cold fingers curled around his collar and he was heaved up, off the floor, until he could stare straight into Viresa's frigid eyes.

"Maybe you're not even worth the effort," she whispered. "Why would you want the amber? You're just protecting it for those friends of yours, aren't you?"

The Cardassians were working for her. Miro knew it. But how much did they know? Viresa was on the path to betrayal once again, and her Cardassian allies thought they were working as equals…when really…

"And what about the wormhole?" Miro gasped out. "Are you gonna tell me what you're doing with the wormhole?"

"Answer the question, Trill."

"You first," Miro managed.

She drew back slightly. "And you say I have a lot of nerve."

"Let me guess," Miro rasped, his throat still sore. "That wormhole isn't for the Cardassians. How could it be? If they knew you were _building_ over here, then in accordance with the treaty you'd have to let them have a hand in it, and this station would look a whole lot more… _Cardassian_. But no, you're planning to betray them in cold blood, aren't you? I'll be they don't even know about the wormhole. No…they do, they were planning on taking Odo to the Gamma Quadrant, but they don't know you've already started building, do they?"

"Interesting theory, Trill," Viresa said. "Unfortunately, it seems your investigative efforts are lacking in some much-needed evidence. Why would I defy the treaty and betray my valued allies?"

"You're full of shit," Miro said. "Somehow you've controlled where that wormhole opens up! And what's gonna be beyond it, in the Gamma Quadrant? The Dominion!"

"You have a wild imagination, Trill," Viresa said. "I've never cared to open myself up to conquest. And that's exactly what the Dominion will do, once they realize a new wormhole is being constructed. Once their end of it opens up—"

"Once it opens up," Miro growled, "your ships will be waiting! And you'll have as many ambers as you can find in your cargo bay. You'll rush through before they can send the Jem'Hadar and you'll shout out to them, hey, you want your infant Changelings? Come and get 'em!"

"And why would I want to attract the attention of the Dominion?" Viresa asked.

"Easy," Miro said. "You hold their lost Hundred out before their noses, and they'll do _anything_ for you. Hell, I'll bet they'll wage any war you damn well please. They were willing enough to fight for what was theirs nine hundred years ago!"

"And what will happen then, do you suppose?" Viresa asked.

"Then, Cardassia goes down in defeat," Miro said. "Cardassia and the Federation and the Klingons and everyone else whose territory you want! But you can't let them predict your plot. The Federation and the Klingons are already distracted with their little war, you don't have to worry about them. But Cardassia—they're your allies, they watch your every move, they're almost as xenophobic as you are after all the trouble the galaxy has put them through. The Ferengi don't care, they'll even offer their services for a high enough price, so all you've got to worry about is Cardassia. So you distract them with the promise of Bajor. Don't think I didn't notice the Cardassian officers you've got all over Deep Space Nine, just waiting to make their move. Of course, it won't matter once the Dominion comes through and allies with you—you'll wage war against the Cardies and none of us little people will have a damn chance."

Viresa cocked her head at him. "Yes, very imaginative."

Miro laughed. "You think that's imaginative? Wait till I tell you what the Dominion will do with you when it's done with you!"

Viresa's lips stretched into that Romulan impression of a smile. "The Dominion will be grateful for our support and reward us with a continued alliance."

"You fool," Miro said. "I'll be you've never read history. Well, guess what, _Empress_ , I was there. I didn't just _watch_ the last war with the Dominion—I _fought_ in it! And I may not have known any Founders myself, but I still remember the first sight I got of one, when an old friend of mine met his people for the first time. I know my enemy, Viresa, and I know that when the Founders run out of uses for you, they are going to _destroy_ you like stepping on bugs. Don't you get it? You're just Solids to them! Dispensable humanoids! Hell, we all are! When you create that wormhole you'll be unleashing a _monster_ on this whole galaxy, the likes of which you 33rd century people have never dreamed! But I've known the Dominion myself, I've _fought_ against it, I've stared straight into a Jem'Hadar's eyes! Don't let the wormhole open, Viresa. I'm begging you. It'll be the end of your empire."

"You, beg?" Viresa said. "You must truly be desperate. I don't know if I've ever heard those words come from your mouth."

"Do you _want_ your empire to crumble to dust at your feet, Viresa?" Miro said through gritted teeth.

"All I _want_ ," Viresa said, "is for the galaxy to be mine. Is it too much to ask for you to stay out of the way?"

"Damn right it is," Miro said. "I'll tell the Cardassians. You release me, you continue your plans, I'll tell the Cardassians. I swear I will."

"You won't have a chance," Viresa said. "The amber you still deny having stolen will be confiscated, your Founder friend will be imprisoned, and you…well, if you resist me this time, I'll have no more reason to keep you alive."

Miro set his jaw. "I don't have the amber, Viresa. But if you think I do, why don't you let me rescue my companions, those two innocents you captured without a thought, and the Cardassians can search me there."

"Those two are hardly innocent."

"Hardly innocent? What are you talking about?"

Viresa's fingers tightened around his collar and she pulled him in closer. "We both know one of them is a Founder, Dax. A Changeling. I will not release him from my custody."

Miro swallowed. "And the Bajoran?"

"She is his pressure point. She will remain a prisoner until I have returned the Founder to his people."

"And when will that be?"

Viresa smiled. "Very soon."

"I'll stop you," Miro said.

"I won't allow that."

"Don't bluff your way out of this, Viresa. You won't kill me. You could have killed me ten times over by now if you wanted to. And you know what? I think you _like_ me. I'm living proof that you can stay strong in the face of a challenge."

"As if you 'challenge' me half as much as you think," Viresa said. "Dax, I've already _tried_ to kill you."

Miro blinked.

"Don't tell me you didn't work it out," Viresa said. "Did my attack not seem just a little too…convenient? Right after you had stolen the amber that is rightfully mine?"

"That was you!" Miro gasped. "Those were Romulan ships, waiting for me just beyond Nebez. The Cardassians must have contacted you. You tried to ambush me!"

"Obviously, I failed," Viresa said. "I assure you, next time I'll be more careful."

"Why not just kill me now?"

"What would be the point?" Viresa asked. "I believe a great leader once said that a true victory is to make your enemy see they were wrong to oppose you in the first place. If I drag you into a trap, tell you my plans, and kill you before you can make another move, what could that possibly accomplish?"

"Getting me out of your way," Miro muttered.

"But that's not what I want," Viresa said. "That's never been my goal. Oh, it would be quite convenient for me if you would simply…surrender your cause. But, fortunately for both of us, that will never happen. I will have the opportunity to truly defeat you. I won't kill you, Dax. Not right away. Oh, no. I'll wait. I'll wait until every last power in the galaxy has fallen, and then I'll track you down when you have no allies left. When you're alone, with no purpose left, watching the galaxy crumble around you, watching the evidence of your failure—only _then_ will I kill you, and I'll give you the slowest death possible. I'll kill you on your own ship, on your own turf, and I'll turn your viewscreen onto the most dramatic newsfeed I can find, and I'll slit your stomach and leave you to bleed to death. Am I clear on that?"

"Crystal," Miro said.

Viresa's hand released his collar. He stumbled back, rubbing his neck.

"Good," Viresa said. "Go now. I'll see to it that you have safe passage throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. None of my people will hurt you. You have free reign, Dax. Enjoy it while it's yours."

Miro locked his eyes with hers in a glare as he straightened his shirt and tugged his sleeves back into place. Let her think of that as a silent challenge. He took several deliberate steps back before turning and striding toward the airlock as confidently as he could. He believed her threats. Viresa was just the sort to want to enjoy her victories to the fullest. And if she believed she could conquer the remaining powers of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, if she believed she could even ally herself with the Dominion in the long term, then of course she would want to have her fun with the one man who had been a thorn in her side for so long.

But Miro was no coward. The threat of death would never be enough to deter him from saving the galaxy from doom. His problem now was, he needed a plan. And he couldn't execute it alone.

Normally, alone worked for him. He didn't need allies to use the element of surprise and spring traps on his enemies. He didn't need help to organize sinkholes in nefarious plans. He was pretty good at bending rules to his will, and his vagabond nature meant he was unpredictable. It was impossible for even _him_ to know which side he'd be fighting on next. The only side he consistently opposed was Viresa's, and he'd been fighting her since Dax saw her first stirrings of trouble.

 _That_ was the problem.

He'd been fighting her since before she was even in power, and she knew it. He and Viresa had been at each other's throats for so long they knew each other's strengths and tells. And after all these years, all these years of pushing back against her growing strength, she had still won. She was empress now. She was the head of a prosperous, expanding empire, and she had the resources to dangle before the noses of those in need—such as the Cardassians. She had the means to manipulate her enemies into becoming her allies and she was drunk on her success. By now, she was untouchable. It was difficult to even think about, but she was Dax's most spectacular failure.

And, Miro realized now, he'd have to change his tune if he meant to defeat her.

That meant having allies, and it meant having a plan with lasting consequences. It meant he needed to ensure beyond a doubt that a power of his choice would take Viresa's place and hold the galaxy intact until the border skirmishes died down and it could take care of itself again. It meant that he needed to close that wormhole before the Dominion could come through. And it also meant he could _not_ let the Romulans get ahold of Odo.

Miro slid into the Challenger's pilot seat, closed the airlock, and slumped.

Odo could so easily return to his people now, especially because both Viresa and the Founders _wanted_ him to cross through that wormhole. But the last time Odo had found his people, the Dominion had started a war. Naturally, they would this time—they'd know the wormhole was back, and they'd have their chance. And even if they didn't take that opportunity—even if they honored the treaty—they would learn about the ambers through the Link. Odo knew too much. And they would want their lost Changelings back.

Miro needed Odo as an ally. He needed him _not_ to return to the Gamma Quadrant.

With renewed urgency, Miro disengaged the docking clamps and backed the _Challenger_ away from Viresa's station. He revved up her engines, kicked her up to warp, and set a course along the border in the direction he had come. He set up an ongoing scan for any ship with Odo on board.

And Eeris. There was no way he could leave her to fend for herself.

It looked like they'd end up together, then. Just as the Emissary had wanted. Miro sighed and rested his head in his hands as the _Challenger_ carried him along on autopilot. How had his life managed to spiral out of control in only a few short days? It felt like it was only yesterday that he'd met Eeris on Deep Space Nine and had foolishly decided to take her on board. He should have left her behind. He should never have allowed himself to come face to face with Odo. He shouldn't have agreed to meet on the station to catch Odo up on current events, and he definitely shouldn't have capitulated to Benjamin's request that he give Odo a chance. He would have been so much better off just to stick to his old ways, to avoid social interaction unless absolutely necessary, to keep away from Bajoran space entirely.

But his life was about to take a strange turn, one where Odo of all people was a friend, Eeris was a permanent resident on the _Challenger_ until the galaxy was stabilized and Viresa was neutralized, and Jadzia was allowed to speak her mind. And there was nothing Miro could do to stop it.

* * *

And…finished!  
Yes, I know…it's still not over. Don't worry, I'm already hard at work at Part 3, _Flashback_. I don't know when I'll post it, but it shouldn't take as long as _Union_ did.


End file.
